CHAPTER III.

[pg 56]CHAPTER III.EARLY ATTEMPTS ON THE AIGUILLE DU DRUThe Alps and the early mountaineers—The last peaks to surrender—The Aiguille du Dru—Messrs. Kennedy and Pendlebury’s attempt on the peak—One-day expeditions in the Alps and thoughts on huts and sleeping out—The Chamouni guide system—A word on guides, past and present—The somnolent landlord and his peculiarities—Some of the party see a chamois—Doubts as to the peak and the way—The duplicity of the Aiguille deceives us—Telescopic observations—An ill-arranged glacier—Franz and his mighty axe—A start on the rocks in the wrong direction—Progress reported—An adjournment—The rocks of the lower peak of the Aiguille du Dru—Our first failure—The expedition resumed—A new line of ascent—We reach the sticking point—Beaten back—The results gained by the two days’ climbing.The last peaks to surrenderAccounts of failures on the mountains in books of Alpine adventure are as much out of place, according to some critics, as a new hat in a crowded church. Humanly speaking, the possession of this head-gear under such circumstances renders it impossible to divert the thoughts wholly from worldly affairs. This, however, by the way. Now the pioneers of the Alps, the Stephenses, the Willses, the Moores, the Morsheads, and many others, had used up all new material with alarming rapidity, I might say voracity,[pg 57]before the climbing epoch to which the present sketches relate. There is an old story of a man who arrived running in a breathless condition on a railway platform just in time to see the train disappearing.“You didn’t run fast enough, sir,”remarked the porter to him.“You idiot!”was the answer,“I ran plenty fast enough, but I didn’t begin running soon enough.”Even so was it with the climbers of our generation. They climbed with all possible diligence, but they began their climbing too late. Novelty, that is the desire for achieving new expeditions, was still considered of paramount importance, but unfortunately there was very little new material left. It is difficult to realise adequately now the real veneration entertained for an untrodden peak. A certain amount of familiarity seemed indispensable before a new ascent was even seriously contemplated. It had occurred to certain bold minds that the aiguilles around Chamouni might not be quite as bad as they looked. In 1873 the chief of the still unconquered peaks of the Mont Blanc district were the Aiguille des Charmoz, the Aiguille Blaitière, the Aiguille du Géant, the Aiguille Peuteret, the Aiguille du Dru, and a few other minor points. All of these have since been captured, some of them bound in chains. Opinions differed considerably as to their accessibility. Some hopeful spirits thought that by constantly“pegging away”they might be scaled; others thought that the only feasible[pg 58]plan would be indeed to peg away, but were of opinion that the pegs should be of iron and driven into the rock. Such views naturally lead to discussions, sometimes rather heated, as to whether mountaineering morality might fitly tolerate such aids to the climber. Of all the peaks mentioned above, the Aiguille du Dru and the Aiguille du Géant were considered as the most hopeful by the leading guides, though the older members of that body held out little prospect of success. It is a rather curious fact that the majority of the leading guides who gave their opinions to us in the matter thought that the Aiguille du Géant was the more promising peak to attack. Subsequent experience has proved that they were greatly in error in this judgment. The Aiguille du Géant has indeed been ascended, but much more aid than is comprised in the ordinary mountaineer’s equipment was found necessary. In fact, the stronghold was not carried by direct assault, but by sapping and mining. There is a certain rock needle in Norway which, I am told, was once, and once only, ascended by a party on surveying operations bent. No other means could be found, so a wooden structure was built up around the peak, such as may be seen investing a dilapidated church steeple; and the mountain, like the Royal Martyr of history, yielded up its crowning point at the scaffold. We did not like the prospect of employing any such architectural means to gain our end and[pg 59]the summit, and, from no very clearly defined reasons, turned our attention chiefly to the Aiguille du Dru. Perhaps the prominent appearance of this Aiguille, and the fact that its outline was so familiar from the Montanvert, gradually imbued us with a certain sense of familiarity, which ultimately developed into a notion that if not actually accessible it might at least be worth trying. It seemed too prominent to be impossible; from its height—12,517 feet only—the mountain would doubtless not attract much attention, were it not so advantageously placed. Thousands of tourists had gazed on its symmetrical form: it had been photographed, stared at through binoculars, portrayed in little distorted pictures on useless work-boxes, trays and other toy-shop gimcracks, more often than any other mountain of the chain, Mont Blanc excepted. Like an undersized volunteer officer, it no doubt made the most of its height. But in truth the Aiguille du Dru is a magnificent mountain form, with its vast dark precipices on the north face, with its long lines of cliff, broken and jagged and sparsely wrinkled with gullies free from even a patch or trace of snow. Point after point, and pinnacle after pinnacle catch the gaze as we follow the edge of the north-west“Kamm,”until the eye rests at last on the singularly graceful isosceles triangle of rock which forms the peak. It is spoken of lightly as merely a tooth of rock jutting up from the ridge which[pg 60]culminates in the Aiguille Verte, but when viewed from the Glacier de la Charpoua it is obviously a separate mountain; at any rate it became such when the highest point of the ridge, the Aiguille Verte, had been climbed by somebody else. The cleft in the ridge on the right side of the main mass of the Aiguille du Dru is a very deep one as seen from the glacier, and the sharp needle of rock which is next in the chain is a long way from the Aiguille du Dru itself. North and south the precipices run sheer down to the glaciers beneath. The mountain has then four distinct sides, three of them running down to great depths. Thus, even in the prehistoric days of Alpine climbing, it had some claim to individuality and might fairly be considered as something more than, as it were, one unimportant pinnacle on the roof of some huge cathedral. Perhaps, however, repeated failures to ascend the mountain begot undue veneration and caused an aspiring climber to look with a prejudiced eye on its dimensions.The Aiguille du DruSo far as I know, the mountain had never been assailed till 1873, when Messrs. Pendlebury and Kennedy made an attempt. Mr. R. Pendlebury has kindly furnished me with notes of the climb, which I may be allowed to reproduce nearly in his own words:—Two parties started simultaneously for the expedition. One was composed of Messrs. Kennedy and Marshall, with the guides Johann Fischer and Ulric Almer of Grindelwald; the other party consisted of the Rev.[pg 61]C. Taylor, Messrs. W. M. and R. Pendlebury, with the guides Hans Baumann, Peter Baumann, and Edouard Cupelin. The first-mentioned party slept at the Montanvert, while the others enjoyed themselves in a bivouac high up on the side of the Glacier de la Charpoua between the Aiguille du Dru and the Aiguille Moine. This Glacier de la Charpoua, it may be mentioned, is sometimes called the Glacier du Chapeau.The first attemptThe bivouac appears to have been so comfortable that Mr. Pendlebury and his friends did not take advantage of their start. The Montanvert detachment, who found no such inducement to stay one moment longer than was absolutely necessary2in their costly quarters, caught them up the next morning, and the whole party started together. Mr. Kennedy’s guides kept to the left of the Glacier de la Charpoua, which looks more broken up than the right-hand side, but apparently proved better going. This, however, it should be observed, was in 1873, and these hanging glaciers alter marvellously in detail from year to year, though always preserving from a distance the same general features. On the same principle, at the proper distance, a mother may be mistaken for her daughter, especially by a judicious person. But on drawing near, however discreet the observer may be, he is yet conscious of little furrows, diminutive[pg 62]wrinkles, and perhaps of a general shrinkage not to be found in the more recent specimen. Speaking very generally, I should say that these glaciers are, on the whole, easier to traverse than they used to be: at any rate my own personal observation of this particular little glacier extends over a period of some years, and the intricacies—it is hardly proper to call them difficulties—were distinctly less towards the end of the time than they were at the beginning. Of course a different interpretation might be put upon such an opinion: with the evolution of mountaineering skill the complexity of these crumpled up snow-fields may seem to have disentangled, but I am assured that in this particular case it was not so.First attempt on the peakThis digression must be pardoned. It arose naturally from the circumstance that the route Mr. Kennedy adopted would have proved, at any rate in later years, a digression from the best way. Mr. Pendlebury’s party went straight up, keeping, that is, to the right-hand side of the glacier. Towards the upper part the snow slopes became steeper, and soon some step-cutting was required. The object in view was to reach the lowest point in the ridge between the Aiguille du Dru and the Aiguille Verte. It was thought that, by turning to the left from the col, it might be possible to reach the summit by the eastern arête. The col itself from below seemed easily attainable by means of a narrow zigzagging[pg 63]gully, interrupted here and there, that runs down from the summit of the ridge. Ascending by the rocks on the left of the gully the party made for some little way good progress, but then a sudden change came over the scene. After a consultation, it was proposed that the guides Hans Baumann, Peter Baumann, and Fischer should go on a little by themselves and make for the ridge, which they estimated lay about half an hour above them. They were then to examine the rocks above and to bring back a report. The rest of the party remained where they were, and disported themselves as comfortably as circumstances would permit. Hour after hour, however, passed away, and the three guides seemed to make but little progress. They returned at last with the melancholy tidings that they had climbed nearly up to the ridge and had found the rocks very difficult and dangerous. (It should be noted that the line of attack chosen on this occasion—the first serious attempt on the peak—was devised by Hans Baumann, and it says much for his sagacity that this very route proved years afterwards to be the right one.) Questioned as to the advisability of proceeding upwards, the guides employed their favourite figure of speech and remarked that not for millions of francs would they consent to try again. Hans Baumann asserted that he had never climbed more difficult rocks. This opinion, as Mr. Pendlebury suggested at the time, was probably[pg 64]owing to the fact that the cliffs above were covered with snow and glazed with ice, and this condition of the mountain face made each step precarious. The amateurs of the party were of opinion that the ridge would prove attainable later in the season or in exceptionally fine weather. As to the possibility of climbing the rocks above—that is to say, the actual peak—none of the party were able to come to any very positive conclusion. At a rough guess it was estimated that the party halted between two and three hundred feet below the ridge. On the presentation of the guides report the whole caravan turned back and reached Chamouni safely, but not entirely without incident, for the monotony of the descent and Mr. Taylor’s head were broken by the fall of a big stone. This little accident, Mr. Pendlebury remarked with disinterested cheerfulness, was but a trifle. I have not been able to ascertain Mr. Taylor’s views on the subject.When our party first essayed the ascent we knew none of the above particulars, save only that some mountaineers had endeavoured to reach the ridge but had failed to ascend to any great height. Of the actual cause of their ill success, and whether it were owing to the unpropitious elements or to the actual difficulties encountered, we were unaware.Huts and sleeping outAt the time of which I am writing, a somewhat novel mode of ascending mountains was coming into vogue, which consisted in waiting for a suitable day at[pg 65]headquarters, starting at unheard-of hours, and completing the expedition in one day—that is, within twenty-four hours. It was argued in support of this plan, that it was economical and that bivouacking was but a laborious and expensive method of obtaining discomfort. There are, said the advocates of the method, but few mountains in the Alps which cannot be ascended with much greater comfort in one day than in two. The day’s climb is much more enjoyable when it is possible to start from sleeping quarters in which it is possible to sleep. The argument that repose in hotel beds, though undoubtedly more luxurious, was of comparatively little use if there were no time to enjoy it, was held to be little to the purpose. Some enthusiasts were wont to state that passing a night in a chalet, or those magnified sentry boxes called cabanes, constituted half the enjoyment on the expedition. This is a little strong—like the flavour of the cabanes—and if it were actually so the whole pleasure would be but small. The camper out arises in the morning from his delicious couch of soft new-mown hay in a spotty and sticky condition, attended with considerable local irritation, and feeling like a person who has recently had his hair cut, with a pinafore but loosely tied around his neck. Porters, like barbers, exhibit a propensity for indulging in garlic immediately before pursuing their avocation, which is not without discomfort to their employers. (And here I may note as a[pg 66]psychological fact that one action of this permeating vegetable is to induce confidential propensities in the consumer. The point may be deemed worthy of investigation, by personal experiment, by botanists and students of materia medica, men who in the interests of science are not prone to consider their personal comfort and finer sensibilities.) Again, in unsettled weather a fine day is often wasted by journeying up in the afternoon to some chalet, or hovel, merely to enjoy the pleasure of returning the following morning in the rain. There is some force too in the argument that but little actual time is gained by the first day’s performance, for it is very difficult to start at anything like the prearranged hour for departure from a camp. An immensity of time is always spent in lighting the morning fire, preparing breakfast, and getting under way. On the other side, some little time is undoubtedly saved by discarding the wholly superfluous ceremony of washing, a process at once suggesting itself to the mind of the Briton abroad if he beholds a basin and cold water.The sum of the argument would seem to be that camping out in some one else’s hut is but an unpleasant fiction; that if the climber chooses to go to the expense, he can succeed in making himself a trifle less comfortable in his own tent or under a rock than he would be in an hotel; and that he is the wisest man who refrains from bivouacking when it is not really neces[pg 67]sary and is able to make the best of matters when it is: and undoubtedly for many of the recognised expeditions it is essential to have every possible minute of spare time in hand.The Chamouni guide systemWe were naturally rather doubtful as to the successful issue of our expedition, at any rate at the first attempt, and we therefore impressed upon the guides the necessity of not divulging the plan. The secret, however, proved to be so big that it was too much for two, and they imparted consequently so much of the information as they had not adequate storage for in their own minds to any who chose to listen. Consequently our intentions were thoroughly well known before we started. There were in those days, perhaps, more good guides, at any rate there were fewer bad ones, in Chamouni than are to be found nowadays. We could not, however, obtain the services—even if we had desired them—of any of the local celebrities. As a matter of fact, we were both of opinion that a training in climbing, such as is acquired among the Oberland and Valais men by chamois hunting and constant rock work, would be most likely to have produced the qualities which would undoubtedly be needed on the aiguilles.The question of the efficiency of the Chamouni guides and of the Chamouni guide system, a question coeval with mountaineering itself, was burning then as fiercely as it does now. The Alpine Club had[pg 68]striven in vain to improve matters; they had pointed out that ability to answer a kind of mountaineering catechism did not in itself constitute a very reliable test of a peasant’s power; they had pointed out too that the plan of electing a“guide chef”from the general body of guides was one most open to abuse, one sure to lead to favouritism and injustice, and one obviously ill calculated to bring to the front any specially efficient man. But unhappily the regulations of the body of guides were, and still are, entangled hopelessly in the French equivalent for red tape. Jealousy and mistrust of the German-speaking guides, whom serious mountaineers were beginning to import in rather formidable numbers, were beginning to awaken in the simple bosoms of the Savoyard peasants; and our proceedings were consequently looked upon with contemptuous disfavour by those who had any knowledge of our project.A word on guidesOn August 18, 1873, we started. Our guides were Alexander Burgener as leader, Franz Andermatten, the best of companions, our guide, our friend, and sometimes our philosopher, as second string, while a taciturn porter of large frame and small mind, who came from the Saas valley, completed the tale. Of Burgener’s exceptional talent in climbing difficult rocks we had had already good proof, and no doubt he was, and still is, a man of remarkable daring, endurance, and activity on rocks. I had reached[pg 69]then that stage in the mountaineering art at which a man is prone to consider the guide he knows best as, beyond all comparison, the best guide that could possibly exist. The lapse of years renders me perhaps better able now to form a dispassionate judgment of Burgener’s capacity and skill. Both were very great. I have seen at their work most of the leaders in this department. Burgener never had the marvellous neatness and finish so characteristic of Melchior Anderegg, who, when mountaineering has passed away into the limbo of extinct sports, such as bear-baiting, croquet, and pell-mell, will, if he gets his deserts, even by those who remember Maguignaz, Carrel, Croz, and Almer, still be spoken of asthebest guide that ever lived. Nor was Burgener gifted with the same simple unaffected qualities which made Jakob Anderegg’s loss so keenly felt, nor the lightness and agility of Rey or Jaun; but he united well in himself qualities of strength, carefulness, perseverance and activity, and possessed in addition the numerous attributes of observation, experience, and desire for improvement in his art which together make up what is spoken of as the natural instinct of guides. These were the qualities that made him a first-rate, indeed an exceptional, guide.Nunc liberavi animam meam.There is an old saying, involving a sound doctrine, thatWhen you flatter lay it on thick;Some will come off, but a deal will stick.[pg 70]The porter proved himself a skilful and strong climber, but he was as silent as an oyster and, like that bivalve mollusc when the freshness of its youth has passed off, was perpetually on the gape.A landlord’s peculiaritiesA hot walk—it always is hot along this part—took us up to the Montanvert. The moonlight threw quaint, fantastic shadows along the path and made the dewy gossamer filaments which swung from branch to branch across the track twinkle into grey and silver; and anything more aggravating than these spiders’ threads at night it is hard to imagine. What earthly purpose these animals think they serve by this reckless nocturnal expenditure of bodily glue it is hard to say: possibly the lines are swung across in order that they may practise equilibrium; possibly the threads may serve as lines of escape and retreat after the male spinners have been a-wooing. The atmosphere through the wood was as stuffy as a ship’s saloon in a storm, and we were right glad to reach the Montanvert at 3.30A.M.Here, being athirst, we clamoured for refreshment. The landlord of the ramshackle hostelry at once appeared in full costume; indeed I observed that during the summer it was impossible to tell from his attire whether he had arisen immediately from bed or no. He seemed to act on the principle of the Norwegian peasant, who apparently undresses once a year when the winter commences, and resumes his garments when the light once more comes back[pg 71]and the summer season sets in. Our friend had cultivated to great perfection the art of half sleeping during his waking hours—that is, during such time as he might be called upon to provide entertainment for man and beast. Now at the Montanvert, during the tourists’ season, this period extended over the whole twenty-four hours. It was necessary, therefore, in order that he might enjoy a proper physiological period of rest, for him to remain in a dozing state—a sort of æstival hybernation—for the whole time, which in fact he did; or else he was by nature a very dull person, and had actually a very restricted stock of ideas.The landlord produced at once a battered teapot with a little sieve dangling from its snout, which had been stewing on the hob, and poured out the contained fluid into two stalked saucers of inconvenient diameter. Stimulated by this watery extract, we entered into conversation together. The sight of a tourist with an ice axe led by a kind of reflex process to the landlord’s unburdening his mind with his usual remarks. Like other natives of the valley he had but two ideas of“extraordinary”expeditions.“Monsieur is going to the Jardin?”he remarked.“No, monsieur isn’t.”“Then beyond a doubt monsieur will cross the Col du Géant?”he said, playing his trump card.“No, monsieur will not.”“Pardon—where does monsieur expect to go to?”“On the present occasion we go to try the Aiguille du Dru.”The landlord smiled in an[pg 72]aggravating manner.“Does monsieur think he will get up?”“Time will show.”“Ah!”The landlord, who had a chronic cold in the head, searched for his pockethandkerchief, but not finding it, modified the necessary sniff into one of derision, and then demanded the usual exorbitant price for the refreshment, amounting to about five times the value of the teapot, sieve and all. We paid, and left him chuckling softly to himself at our insane idea, as he replaced the teapot on the hob in readiness for the next arrival. That landlord, though physically sleepy, was still wide awake in matters of finance. He once charged me five francs for the loan of a secondhand collection of holes which he termed a blanket.We see a chamoisWe got on to the glacier at the usual point and made straight across the slippery hummocks to the grass slope encircling the base of the Aiguille du Dru and the Glacier de la Charpoua. The glacier above gives birth to a feeble meandering little stream which wanders fitfully down the mountain side. At first we kept to the left, but after a while crossed the little torrent, and bearing more to the right plodded leisurely up the steep grass and rock slope. We had made good progress when of a sudden Franz gave a loud whistle and then fell flat down. The other two guides immediately followed his example and beckoned to us with excited gesticulations to behave in a similarly foolish manner. Thereupon we too sat down,[pg 73]and enquired what the purport of this performance might be. It turned out that there was a very little chamois about half a mile off. Knowing that it would be impossible to induce the guides to move on till the animal had disappeared, we seized the opportunity of taking an early breakfast. The guides meanwhile wriggled about on their stomachs, with eyes starting out of their heads, possessed by an extraordinary desire to miss no single movement of the object of their attention.“See, it moves,”said Franz in a whisper.“Himmel! it is feeding,”said Burgener.“It must be the same that Johann saw three weeks ago.”“Ach! no, that was but a little one”(no true chamois hunter will ever allow that a brother sportsman can possibly have set eyes on a larger animal than himself).“Truly it is fine.”“Thunder weather! it moves its head.”In their excitement I regretted that I could not share, not being well versed in hunting craft: my own experience of sport in the Alps being limited to missing one marmot that was sitting on a rock licking its paws. In due course the chamois walked away. Apparently much relieved by there being no further necessity to continue in their former uncomfortable attitudes, the guides sat up and fell to a warm discussion as to the size of the animal. A chamois is to a guide as a fish to the baffled angler or the last new baby to a monthly nurse, and is always pronounced to be beyond question the finest[pg 74]that has ever been seen. To this they agreed generally, but Franz, whose spirits had suddenly evaporated, now shook his head dismally, with the remark that it was unlucky to see a single chamois, and that we should have no success that day. Undaunted by his croaking, we pursued our way to the right side of the glacier, while our guide, who had a ballad appropriate to every occasion, sang rather gaspingly a tremulous little funeral dirge. We worked well across to the right, in order to obtain the best possible view of the Aiguille, and halted repeatedly while discussing the best point at which to attack the rocks. While thus engaged in reconnoitring close under the cliffs of the ridge running between the Aiguille Moine and the Aiguille Verte, a considerable block of ice, falling from the rocks above, whizzed past just in front of us and capered gaily down the slope. Hereupon we came rather rapidly to the conclusion that we had better proceed. Half an hour further on we reached the top of a steep little snow slope, and a point secure from falling stones and ice. Recognising that we must soon cross back to the rocks of the Dru, we tried to come to a final conclusion as to the way to be chosen. As usual, everybody pointed out different routes: even a vestry meeting could hardly have been less unanimous. Some one now ventured to put a question that had been troubling in reality our minds for some time past, viz. which of the peaks that towered above[pg 75]us was really the Aiguille du Dru. On the left there were two distinct points which, though close together, were separated apparently by a deep rift, and some distance to the right of the col which the previous party had tried to reach, a sharp tooth of rock towered up to a considerable height. Evidently, however, from its position this latter needle could not be visible from Chamouni or from the Montanvert. Again, it was clear that the mass comprising the two points close together must be visible from the valley, but which of the two was the higher? Alexander gave as his opinion that the more distant of these two points, that on the right, was the higher, and turned to the porter for confirmation. That worthy nodded his head affirmatively with extreme sagacity, evidently implying that he was of the same opinion. Franz on the other hand thought the left-hand peak was the one that we ought to make for, arguing that it most resembled the Dru as seen from the Montanvert, that there was probably little difference in height between the two, that our ascent would not be believed in unless we were to place a flag on the point visible from Chamouni, and finally that the left-hand peak seemed to be the easier, and would probably be found to conceal the sharper point of the right-hand summit. Having expressed these views, he in turn looked towards the porter to ascertain his sentiments. The porter, who was evidently of a complaisant tempera[pg 76]ment, nodded his head very vigorously to intimate that these arguments seemed the more powerful of the two to his mind, and then cocked his head on one side in a knowing manner, intended to express that he was studying the angles and that he was prepared to find himself in the right whichever view prevailed. We did not find out for certain till some time after that the right-hand summit, though concealed from view by the Montanvert, is very distinctly visible from Chamouni: excusable ignorance, as most of the Chamouni people are unaware of it to this day. Professor Forbes, as Mr. Douglas Freshfield has kindly pointed out to me, with his usual accuracy distinguished and also measured the two summits, giving their heights respectively as 12,178, and 12,245 feet.3Knowing little as we did then of the details of the mountain, we followed Franz’s advice and made for the left-hand peak, under the impression that if one proved accessible the other might also, and there really seemed no reason why we should not, if occasion demanded, ascend both.Doubts as to the peakLeading up from the glacier two distinct lines of attack presented themselves. The right-hand ridge descends to the col very precipitously, but still we had some idea that the rocks did not look wholly impossible. Again, on the left of the Dru the rocks are cut away very abruptly and form the long precipitous[pg 77]ridge seen from the Montanvert. This ridge was so jagged that we could see no possible advantage in climbing to any part of it, except just at the termination where it merges into the south-western face of the main mountain. The choice therefore, in our judgment, lay between storming the mountain by the face right opposite to us or else making for the col and the right-hand ridge; but the latter was the route that Messrs. Pendlebury and Kennedy had followed, and we could not hope to succeed where such giants had failed. Burgener indeed wished to try, but the rest of the party were unanimously in favour of attempting to find a way up the face, a route that at the worst had the merit of novelty. We thought too that if a closer acquaintance proved that the crags were ill arranged for upward locomotion, we might be able to work round on the face and so reach the col by a more circuitous route. With the naked eye—especially a myopic one—the rocks appeared unpromising enough; while viewed through the telescope the rocks looked utterly impossible. But little faith, however, can be rested in telescopic observations of a mountain, so far as the question of determining a route is concerned. Amateurs, who, as a rule, understand the use of a telescope much better than guides, have not the requisite experience to determine the value of what they see, while but few guides see enough to form any basis for determination. Moreover, the instrument we carried[pg 78]with us, though it had an extraordinary number of sections and pulled out like the ill-fated tradesman’s trousers in a pantomime, was not a very remarkable one in the matter of definition. Still it is always proper and orthodox to look at a new peak through the telescope, and we were determined not to neglect any formality on the present occasion.Telescopic observationsWe were now rather more than half-way up the Glacier de la Charpoua. To reach the most promising-looking point at which we might hope to get on the rocks, it was necessary to travel straight across the snow at about the level on which we stood. Now, this Glacier de la Charpoua is not constructed on ordinary principles. Instead of the orthodox transverse bergschrund it possesses a longitudinal crack running up its whole length, a peculiarity that vexed us hugely. Half a dozen times did we attempt to cross by some tempting-looking bridge, but on each occasion we were brought to a stand by impassable crevasses; then had to turn back, go up a little farther, and try again. It was already late in the day and we could ill spare the time lost in this to and fro movement. Eventually we reached a little patch of rocks not far from the head of the glacier. No sooner had we reached these rocks than the guides hunted up a suitable place and concealed some utterly worthless property as carefully as if they expected evil-minded marauders to be wandering about, seeking what they might pilfer.[pg 79]Having effected the cache with due care, Franz once again burst into a strange carol, the burden of which was unintelligible, but the chorus made frequent allusion to“der Teufel.”We now saw that, after all, the only feasible plan would be to cut our way still higher up a steep slope, and thus to work right round, describing a large curve. An occasional step required to be scraped, for the glacier is in shadow till late in the morning, owing to the Aiguille Verte intervening and cutting off the sun’s rays. Throughout the day our second guide had been burning with a desire to exhibit the good qualities of the most portentous ice axe I ever saw, an instrument of an unwieldy character resembling a labourer’s pick on the top of a May pole. Its dimensions were monstrous and its weight preposterous: moreover, the cutting spike had an evil curve and, instead of hewing out blocks of ice neatly, preferred to ram a huge hole in the slope and stick fast therein, while a quiver ran through its mighty frame and communicated itself to the striker, who shuddered at each blow as after taking a dose of very bitter physic. However, Franz was so proud of his halberd that we were obliged to sacrifice rapid progress to the consideration of his feelings, and he was accordingly sent on to cut the steps which were now found necessary. With no little exertion did he construct a staircase of which the steps were about the size of foot baths, and with no slight impatience did[pg 80]we watch his gymnastics and athletic flourishes, which were a sort of mixture of tossing the caber and throwing the hammer combined with a touch of polo. Ultimately we were able to quit the glacier for the actual face of the mountain, at a point probably not very much below that struck by the previous party; but it was our intention at once to bear off to the left.Franz and his mighty axeWe blundered a little on the rocks at first after the long spell of snow-walking. A cry from Franz caused us to look round, and we perceived that he had got entangled with the big axe, the spike of which was sticking into the third button of his waistcoat, causing him, as the strain on the rope above and below folded him up in a rather painful manner, to assume the attitude of a mechanical toy monkey on a stick. Fearing that he might be placed in the condition in which cats’ meat is usually offered for sale, we slackened the rope and saved him from impending perforation, but with the result that the axe bounded off down the slope, turned two or three summersaults, and then stuck up defiantly in a distant patch of snow, looking like a sign-post. While Franz went off to recover his loved treasure we huddled together on a very little ledge of rock, and sat there in a row like busts on a shelf—if the simile be not considered anatomically inappropriate. But these delays had wasted much time, and already success seemed doubtful. Little time could now be devoted to consultation, and[pg 81]little good would have come of it; now that we were on the rocks the only thing to do was to go straight on and see what would happen. At the same time we had a dim consciousness that we were considerably to the right of the best line of ascent. Our“general idea”—to borrow a military phrase of which, by the way, it may be remarked that the idea in question is usually confined to the general and is not shared in by the troops—consisted in making for the left-hand side or Montanvert aspect of the final peak. We set our teeth, whatever that may mean, then fell to with a will and for some two hours went with scarcely a check. And a rare two hours’ climb we had. The very thought of it makes the pen travel swiftly over the paper, as the scene comes back in every detail. How Burgener led the way without hesitation and almost without mistake; how our second guide chattered unceasingly, caring nought for a listener; how they both stuck to the rocks like limpets; how the big axe got in everybody’s way; how the rope got caught on every projecting spur of rock, jerking back the unwary, or when loose sweeping down showers of small angular stones from the little platforms and ridges, thereby engendering ill blood and contumely; how the silent porter climbed stolidly after us, and in the plenitude of his taciturn good-humour poked at us from below with his staff at inconvenient moments and in sensitive places; how at one moment we were[pg 82]flat against the rock, all arms and legs, like crushed spiders, and at another gathered into great loops like a cheese maggot on the point of making a leap; how a volley of little stones came whistling cheerily down from above, playfully peppering us all round; how our spirits rose with our bodies till we became as excited as children: of all these things it boots not to give any detailed description. Those who can recollect similar occasions need but to be reminded of them, and, to tell the truth, the minutiæ, though they are so graven upon the mind that a clear impression could be struck off years afterwards, are apt to prove somewhat tedious. Two facts I may note. One, that the rocks were at first very much easier than was expected; another, that we should have done better had we discarded the rope on this part of the climb: the rocks were hardly a fit place for those who could not dispense with its use. Ever and anon the guides’ spirits would rise to that level which may be called the shouting point, and they would jödel till they were black in the face, while the melodious roll of sound echoed cheerily back from the distant cliffs of the Aiguille Moine. And so we journeyed up.A start in the wrong directionMeanwhile the weather had changed; black clouds had come rolling up and were gathering ominously above us; it was evident that we had no chance of reaching the summit that day, even if it were practicable, but still we persevered desperately[pg 83]in the hope of seeing some possible route for a future attack. Progress, however, on a rock peak is necessarily slow when there are five on the rope, and we should probably have done more wisely if we had divided into two parties. We kept well to the left to a point on the face where a huge tower of rock stands four-square to all the winds of heaven that blow; and above us, as a matter of fact, there seemed to be a good many winds. This landmark, very conspicuous and characteristic of these aiguilles, seemed to be close to the ridge, but on reaching it we found that there was still a stiff passage intervening between us and the point from which we could overlook the other side of the mountain. Now we bore to the right and the climbing became more difficult. We made our way straight up a very shallow gully and finally reached a point on the western ridge overlooking the Montanvert, close to where this ridge merges into the corresponding face of the peak. Here a halt was called, for two reasons. In the first place a few flakes of snow were softly falling around and the gathering clouds betokened more to follow. Secondly, so far as we could judge through the mist, it was apparently impossible to ascend any higher from the place we had reached. So we cast off the rope and clambered separately to various points of vantage to survey the work that lay before us. The summit of the peak, enveloped in thin cloud, appeared to tower no great height above[pg 84]us, but we were too close under the cliff to estimate its elevation very correctly. At the time we thought that if we could only keep up the pace at which we had been going, an hour’s climb would have sufficed to reach the top. We found, it may be remarked parenthetically, that we were egregiously in error in this estimate some years later. The shifting clouds made the rock face—that is, the small extent of it that we could see at all—look much more difficult than in all probability it actually was. Through the mists we made out, indistinctly, a formidable-looking irregular crack in the rock face running very straight up and rather to our left, which apparently constituted the only possible route from our position to a higher level. But from where we stood we could not have reached the lower end of this crack without a ladder of about fifty feet in length, and the mist entirely prevented us from judging whether we could reach it by a détour. The choice lay between hunting for some such line or else in trying what seemed on the whole more practicable, viz. working round by the north-east face again, so as to search for a more easy line of ascent. But the latter alternative would have involved of necessity a considerable descent. While we debated what course to take the mists swept up thicker and thicker from below, and in a moment the peak above us was concealed and all the view cut off. A piercingly cold wind began to rise and a sharp storm[pg 85]of hail and sleet descended. Hints were dropped about the difficulty of descending rocks glazed over with ice with a proper amount of deliberation. It was obviously impossible to go up and might soon become very difficult to go down. The question was not actually put, but, in conformity with what was evidently the general sense of the meeting, we somewhat reluctantly made up our minds to return. A dwarf stone man was constructed, the rope readjusted, and half an hour’s descent put us out of the mist and snow. We stopped again and stared upwards blankly at the leve line of mist hanging heavily against the peak. Burgener now came forward with a definite resolution and proposed that we should stay where we were for the night and try again the next day. This was referred to a sub-committee, who reported against the suggestion on the ground that the stock of provisions left consisted of a tablespoonful of wine, four rolls, and a small piece of cheese which had strayed from the enveloping paper in the porter’s pocket and as a consequence smelt of tobacco and was covered with hairs and fluff. These articles of diet were spread on a rock and we mentally calculated the exact proportion that would fall to each man’s share if we attempted, as proposed, to subsist on them for a day and a half. But little deliberation was required. We decided at once to return. The porter gathered the fragments lovingly together and replaced them with other curious[pg 86]articles in his side pocket. By 8.30P.M.we were back at Chamouni, having been out a little under twenty hours.An adjournmentA day or two later we made up our minds to start once more. Great preparations were made for an early departure, the idea that we should find it distasteful to start at the hour at which a London ball begins being scouted, as it usually is over-night. We impressed on an intelligent“boots”with great earnestness the absolute necessity of waking us precisely at midnight, and then went to our repose, feeling about as much inclined for sleep as a child does during the afternoon siesta intended to prepare it for the glories of a pantomime. The“boots”did not fail; in fact he was extra-punctual, as our departure was the signal for his retiring. At midnight the party assembled in the little courtyard in front of the hotel, but a dismal sight met our gaze. Under the influence of a warm sou’-wester, thick black clouds had filled the valley, and a gentle drizzle reminded us of the balmy climate of our own metropolis in November. Our Alpine tour for the season was nearly at an end, and we gazed despondently around. Ultimately one practical person suggested that if we did not go to the mountain we might as well go to bed, and the practical person endorsed his suggestion by walking off. A scurvy practical joke did the clerk of the weather play on us that night. In the morning the bright sunbeams[pg 87]came streaming in through the window, the sky was cloudless and the outline of every peak was sharply defined in the clear air. A more perfect morning for the expedition could hardly have been chosen. Some ill-timed remarks at breakfast referring pointedly to people who talk a good deal over-night about early starts, and the deep concern of the“boots”at our presumed slothfulness, goaded us to desperation. We determined to start again and to have one more try the next day whatever the weather might prove to be. Once more we found ourselves in the small hours of the morning on the path leading to Les Ponts. Had it not been for the previous day’s lesson we should probably have turned back from this point, for the whole of the mountain opposite was concealed in thick drifting mist. The guides flatly refused to go on as matters stood. We were determined on our side not to give it up, and so a compromise was effected. It was agreed to wait for an hour or two and see if matters mended. So we stretched ourselves out on a damp sloping rock, prepared to resume our journey at the slightest indication of a change for the better. Rest at such a time even under these hard, not to say stony, conditions is seductive, and, as we lay half dozing, strange heretical thoughts came crowding into the mind. Why toil up this mountain when one can rest in luxury on these knobby rocks? Why labour over the shifting moraine, the deceitful glacier, the slippery[pg 88]rock? What is the good of it all? Can it be vanity or——“Vorwärts!”The dream vanished as the cheery cry broke out from the guide engaged on outpost duty, and as we rose and stretched ourselves the whole aspect of affairs seemed changed. A distinct break in the clouds at the head of the Mer de Glace gave promise of better things in store, and we felt almost guilty of having wasted an hour or more at our halt. The break became larger and larger, and before long the great cloud banks resolved into one huge streamer flying from the summit of the peak. I fancy that, at any rate in the early stages of mountaineering, many good chances are thrown away on such days, for guides are as a rule somewhat prone to despondency in the early morning hours. Once started, however, they became wondrously keen, complained of our delay, and even asserted with some effrontery that they had predicted fine weather all the time, and this without a blush; still some one rather neatly defined blushing as a suffusion least seldom seen in those who have the most occasion for it, and guides share with politicians a certain power of manipulating their opinions to suit the exigencies of the moment. The traces of our former attempt assisted us materially on the glacier. Our plan of attack consisted in getting on the rocks at our former point, but working on this occasion much more directly up the face. Burgener conceived that by following this line of assault we[pg 89]should be able to ascend, by means of a gully which existed only in his own imagination, to a more practicable part of the peak. Between the two summits of the Aiguille du Dru may be seen, at any rate in photographs, a tempting-looking streak of snow: it seemed possible, if we could once reach the lower point of this streak, to follow its line upwards. The lower peak of the Dru is well rounded on its eastern face, and the rocks appear more broken than in other parts of the mountain.The expedition resumedIf we could but once reach the cleft between the peaks there seemed every chance of our being able to reach the lower summit. At the outset progress was fast. We followed our former line till we were in sight of the rock tower and then at once bore off to the right. The climbing was rather more difficult, at least it seemed so to us in those days, than on the other part of the mountain with which we had previously made acquaintance. A series of short flat gullies had to be climbed, but there were exceedingly few inequalities to help us. The rope was of little or no use and might perhaps have been laid aside with advantage. We soon found that we had reached a higher point than at our previous attempt, and as the leader constantly returned favourable reports our spirits rose; so elated in fact did we become that the exact formalities to be observed on reaching the top were seriously discussed whenever the occasion offered for conversation, which[pg 90]was not very often. Old Franz chattered away to himself, as was his wont when matters went well, and on looking back on one occasion I perceived the strange phenomenon of a smile illuminating the porter’s features. Howbeit, this worthy spake no words of satisfaction, but pulled ever at his empty pipe. By dint of wriggling over a smooth sloping stone slab we had got into a steep rock gully which promised to lead us to a good height. Burgener, assisted by much pushing and prodding from below and aided on his own part by much snorting and some strong language, had managed to climb on to a great overhanging boulder that cut off the view from the rest of the party below. As he disappeared from sight we watched the paying out of the rope with as much anxiety as a fisherman eyes his vanishing line when the salmon runs. Presently the rope ceased to move and we waited for a few moments in suspense. We felt that the critical moment of the expedition had arrived, and the fact that our own view was exceedingly limited made us all the more anxious to hear the verdict.“How does it look?”we called out. The answer came back in patois, a bad sign in such emergencies. For a minute or two an animated conversation was kept up; then we decided to take another opinion and accordingly hoisted up our second guide. The chatter was redoubled.“What does it look like?”we shouted again.“Not possible from where we are,”[pg 91]was the melancholy answer, and in a tone that crashed at once all our previous elation. I could not find words at the moment to express my disappointment: but the porter could and gallantly he came to the rescue. He opened his mouth for the first time and spoke, and he said very loud indeed that it was“verdammt.”Precisely: that is just what it was. Having made this short speech, the porter allowed the smile to fade away from his features, shook out some imaginary ashes and proceeded to light some visionary tobacco, sucking at a lighted match through the medium of an empty pipe. It seemed hard to believe at first that we were to be baulked when so near the summit, and it was not till the guides had tried again and again to storm the almost vertical wall of smooth rock and had shown the utter impossibility of turning it either right or left, that we felt we were really beaten. One more forlorn chance remained: we might try the west face of the mountain from the spot we had reached at our first attempt, when the weather had prevented us from making any further progress. Had there been more time at our disposal we should have done better to try another line of ascent more to our right, that is, nearer to the col, and it might be possible to reach the cleft between the two summits by this means. As for the snow streak which looked so tempting at a distance, it is a delusion and a snare, if the latter term be applicable to a place[pg 92]which appears to be much more difficult to get into than it probably would be to get out of. We had already pretty fully realised that the mountain was more difficult to ascend than we had ever contemplated, and it seemed advisable at the moment to make for some definite point which at any rate we felt sure of reaching and to study the peak in detail to the best of our ability; so we made towards our cairn, though with little hope of gaining much knowledge thereby.A sticking pointWithout much difficulty, but not without some little danger from falling stones (though on the whole, the mountain is remarkably free from these annoyances, there being as a matter of fact but few loose stones to fall), we reached our former point and were able to judge distinctly of how much higher we had reached at our second attempt. We saw also that upward progress from the point on which we stood would not be possible, but it must be remembered that we were able only to see a small strip of the mountain lying directly above. Every crag that was not absolutely vertical appeared to overhang, and the few small cracks that might have afforded hand and foot hold led nowhere in particular. Altogether the view was depressing although limited. There was no time to hunt about for other routes, or we should certainly have done so, for we felt that though beaten our discomfiture only arose from the fact that we had chosen a wrong line of ascent. Possibly within a few yards of us lay a[pg 93]feasible route, but we knew not on which side it might be. Here it occurred to the porter for the first time that his pipe was empty and had been so all day: he thereupon made his second remark, which consisted in an audible request for something to put in it. We had dragged up with us (as a matter of fact the porter had carried it the whole time) some 200 feet of rope, thinking it might help us in the descent, but the part of the mountain on which we were presents no more difficulties in this respect than does Avernus.Beaten backArrived on the snow slope opposite the rock face on which we had been climbing during the day, we stopped, extended the telescope, and tried to make out our exact line, and endeavoured also to discover what had been our error; no easy task, as any persons of experience will admit. At any time the appearance of this peak is deceptive, and the outline no more guides you to a knowledge of the natural details than does the outline of a fashionable lady’s dress. But as we looked the mountain seemed flattened out by reason of a blue evening mist which obscured all the irregularities. So we turned and resumed our journey down, running hard across the Mer de Glace, for the shades of night drew on apace, and reached Chamouni at 8.30 in the evening, leaving the guides at the Montanvert with half a bottle of thin red wine between three of them. We were overtaken by Edouard Cupelin, one of the best of the Chamouni guides, at[pg 94]any rate on rock mountains, on our way down, and he gave us a rather sensational account of his own adventures on the peak. In justice to him it should be mentioned that he was almost the only Chamouni guide who seemed to think the ascent possible, and in his opinion the general line that we had adopted was the correct one. Our second expedition thus from first to last occupied about 20½ hours, but the halts were not nearly so numerous as on the first occasion. The experience of our two days’ climbing led us to the conclusion that Cupelin was right. From the peculiar character of the rocks and the fact that our climbing lay chiefly along short flat gullies we were unable, as already remarked, to get a very clear idea of any part of the mountain except that on which we were actually engaged, and we were led to the opinion that the only plan to find a possible route would consist in trying in succession from below the different parts of the southern face. The final peak, which from this side shoots up clearly defined from the great mass of the mountain, seemed to us tolerably easy of ascent provided one could reach the base. A sort of depression extends three parts of the way round, and the edge of this shallow moat appeared to be defended by an inaccessible belt of vertical rock. The actual rocks were wholly unlike any met with elsewhere in our experience. Great vertical slabs were fitted together with an accuracy which was beautiful[pg 95]in its perfection, but irritating beyond conception to the climber. Progress upwards, when above the level of the col, necessitated a series of fatiguing gymnastics like swimming uphill, but the rocks where they were possible proved invariably firm and good. On both occasions we were stopped by sheer difficulty and probably saw the mountain at its very best. The snow on the rocks, which proved such a formidable difficulty to Mr. Pendlebury’s party, had almost entirely disappeared before our assault. The rocks were warm and the weather on the second day was perfect.Results gainedSuch is the history of our first two attempts to climb this mountain. They served but to whet our appetite for success, but it was not till years after that we were fortunate enough to meet with that success.

[pg 56]CHAPTER III.EARLY ATTEMPTS ON THE AIGUILLE DU DRUThe Alps and the early mountaineers—The last peaks to surrender—The Aiguille du Dru—Messrs. Kennedy and Pendlebury’s attempt on the peak—One-day expeditions in the Alps and thoughts on huts and sleeping out—The Chamouni guide system—A word on guides, past and present—The somnolent landlord and his peculiarities—Some of the party see a chamois—Doubts as to the peak and the way—The duplicity of the Aiguille deceives us—Telescopic observations—An ill-arranged glacier—Franz and his mighty axe—A start on the rocks in the wrong direction—Progress reported—An adjournment—The rocks of the lower peak of the Aiguille du Dru—Our first failure—The expedition resumed—A new line of ascent—We reach the sticking point—Beaten back—The results gained by the two days’ climbing.The last peaks to surrenderAccounts of failures on the mountains in books of Alpine adventure are as much out of place, according to some critics, as a new hat in a crowded church. Humanly speaking, the possession of this head-gear under such circumstances renders it impossible to divert the thoughts wholly from worldly affairs. This, however, by the way. Now the pioneers of the Alps, the Stephenses, the Willses, the Moores, the Morsheads, and many others, had used up all new material with alarming rapidity, I might say voracity,[pg 57]before the climbing epoch to which the present sketches relate. There is an old story of a man who arrived running in a breathless condition on a railway platform just in time to see the train disappearing.“You didn’t run fast enough, sir,”remarked the porter to him.“You idiot!”was the answer,“I ran plenty fast enough, but I didn’t begin running soon enough.”Even so was it with the climbers of our generation. They climbed with all possible diligence, but they began their climbing too late. Novelty, that is the desire for achieving new expeditions, was still considered of paramount importance, but unfortunately there was very little new material left. It is difficult to realise adequately now the real veneration entertained for an untrodden peak. A certain amount of familiarity seemed indispensable before a new ascent was even seriously contemplated. It had occurred to certain bold minds that the aiguilles around Chamouni might not be quite as bad as they looked. In 1873 the chief of the still unconquered peaks of the Mont Blanc district were the Aiguille des Charmoz, the Aiguille Blaitière, the Aiguille du Géant, the Aiguille Peuteret, the Aiguille du Dru, and a few other minor points. All of these have since been captured, some of them bound in chains. Opinions differed considerably as to their accessibility. Some hopeful spirits thought that by constantly“pegging away”they might be scaled; others thought that the only feasible[pg 58]plan would be indeed to peg away, but were of opinion that the pegs should be of iron and driven into the rock. Such views naturally lead to discussions, sometimes rather heated, as to whether mountaineering morality might fitly tolerate such aids to the climber. Of all the peaks mentioned above, the Aiguille du Dru and the Aiguille du Géant were considered as the most hopeful by the leading guides, though the older members of that body held out little prospect of success. It is a rather curious fact that the majority of the leading guides who gave their opinions to us in the matter thought that the Aiguille du Géant was the more promising peak to attack. Subsequent experience has proved that they were greatly in error in this judgment. The Aiguille du Géant has indeed been ascended, but much more aid than is comprised in the ordinary mountaineer’s equipment was found necessary. In fact, the stronghold was not carried by direct assault, but by sapping and mining. There is a certain rock needle in Norway which, I am told, was once, and once only, ascended by a party on surveying operations bent. No other means could be found, so a wooden structure was built up around the peak, such as may be seen investing a dilapidated church steeple; and the mountain, like the Royal Martyr of history, yielded up its crowning point at the scaffold. We did not like the prospect of employing any such architectural means to gain our end and[pg 59]the summit, and, from no very clearly defined reasons, turned our attention chiefly to the Aiguille du Dru. Perhaps the prominent appearance of this Aiguille, and the fact that its outline was so familiar from the Montanvert, gradually imbued us with a certain sense of familiarity, which ultimately developed into a notion that if not actually accessible it might at least be worth trying. It seemed too prominent to be impossible; from its height—12,517 feet only—the mountain would doubtless not attract much attention, were it not so advantageously placed. Thousands of tourists had gazed on its symmetrical form: it had been photographed, stared at through binoculars, portrayed in little distorted pictures on useless work-boxes, trays and other toy-shop gimcracks, more often than any other mountain of the chain, Mont Blanc excepted. Like an undersized volunteer officer, it no doubt made the most of its height. But in truth the Aiguille du Dru is a magnificent mountain form, with its vast dark precipices on the north face, with its long lines of cliff, broken and jagged and sparsely wrinkled with gullies free from even a patch or trace of snow. Point after point, and pinnacle after pinnacle catch the gaze as we follow the edge of the north-west“Kamm,”until the eye rests at last on the singularly graceful isosceles triangle of rock which forms the peak. It is spoken of lightly as merely a tooth of rock jutting up from the ridge which[pg 60]culminates in the Aiguille Verte, but when viewed from the Glacier de la Charpoua it is obviously a separate mountain; at any rate it became such when the highest point of the ridge, the Aiguille Verte, had been climbed by somebody else. The cleft in the ridge on the right side of the main mass of the Aiguille du Dru is a very deep one as seen from the glacier, and the sharp needle of rock which is next in the chain is a long way from the Aiguille du Dru itself. North and south the precipices run sheer down to the glaciers beneath. The mountain has then four distinct sides, three of them running down to great depths. Thus, even in the prehistoric days of Alpine climbing, it had some claim to individuality and might fairly be considered as something more than, as it were, one unimportant pinnacle on the roof of some huge cathedral. Perhaps, however, repeated failures to ascend the mountain begot undue veneration and caused an aspiring climber to look with a prejudiced eye on its dimensions.The Aiguille du DruSo far as I know, the mountain had never been assailed till 1873, when Messrs. Pendlebury and Kennedy made an attempt. Mr. R. Pendlebury has kindly furnished me with notes of the climb, which I may be allowed to reproduce nearly in his own words:—Two parties started simultaneously for the expedition. One was composed of Messrs. Kennedy and Marshall, with the guides Johann Fischer and Ulric Almer of Grindelwald; the other party consisted of the Rev.[pg 61]C. Taylor, Messrs. W. M. and R. Pendlebury, with the guides Hans Baumann, Peter Baumann, and Edouard Cupelin. The first-mentioned party slept at the Montanvert, while the others enjoyed themselves in a bivouac high up on the side of the Glacier de la Charpoua between the Aiguille du Dru and the Aiguille Moine. This Glacier de la Charpoua, it may be mentioned, is sometimes called the Glacier du Chapeau.The first attemptThe bivouac appears to have been so comfortable that Mr. Pendlebury and his friends did not take advantage of their start. The Montanvert detachment, who found no such inducement to stay one moment longer than was absolutely necessary2in their costly quarters, caught them up the next morning, and the whole party started together. Mr. Kennedy’s guides kept to the left of the Glacier de la Charpoua, which looks more broken up than the right-hand side, but apparently proved better going. This, however, it should be observed, was in 1873, and these hanging glaciers alter marvellously in detail from year to year, though always preserving from a distance the same general features. On the same principle, at the proper distance, a mother may be mistaken for her daughter, especially by a judicious person. But on drawing near, however discreet the observer may be, he is yet conscious of little furrows, diminutive[pg 62]wrinkles, and perhaps of a general shrinkage not to be found in the more recent specimen. Speaking very generally, I should say that these glaciers are, on the whole, easier to traverse than they used to be: at any rate my own personal observation of this particular little glacier extends over a period of some years, and the intricacies—it is hardly proper to call them difficulties—were distinctly less towards the end of the time than they were at the beginning. Of course a different interpretation might be put upon such an opinion: with the evolution of mountaineering skill the complexity of these crumpled up snow-fields may seem to have disentangled, but I am assured that in this particular case it was not so.First attempt on the peakThis digression must be pardoned. It arose naturally from the circumstance that the route Mr. Kennedy adopted would have proved, at any rate in later years, a digression from the best way. Mr. Pendlebury’s party went straight up, keeping, that is, to the right-hand side of the glacier. Towards the upper part the snow slopes became steeper, and soon some step-cutting was required. The object in view was to reach the lowest point in the ridge between the Aiguille du Dru and the Aiguille Verte. It was thought that, by turning to the left from the col, it might be possible to reach the summit by the eastern arête. The col itself from below seemed easily attainable by means of a narrow zigzagging[pg 63]gully, interrupted here and there, that runs down from the summit of the ridge. Ascending by the rocks on the left of the gully the party made for some little way good progress, but then a sudden change came over the scene. After a consultation, it was proposed that the guides Hans Baumann, Peter Baumann, and Fischer should go on a little by themselves and make for the ridge, which they estimated lay about half an hour above them. They were then to examine the rocks above and to bring back a report. The rest of the party remained where they were, and disported themselves as comfortably as circumstances would permit. Hour after hour, however, passed away, and the three guides seemed to make but little progress. They returned at last with the melancholy tidings that they had climbed nearly up to the ridge and had found the rocks very difficult and dangerous. (It should be noted that the line of attack chosen on this occasion—the first serious attempt on the peak—was devised by Hans Baumann, and it says much for his sagacity that this very route proved years afterwards to be the right one.) Questioned as to the advisability of proceeding upwards, the guides employed their favourite figure of speech and remarked that not for millions of francs would they consent to try again. Hans Baumann asserted that he had never climbed more difficult rocks. This opinion, as Mr. Pendlebury suggested at the time, was probably[pg 64]owing to the fact that the cliffs above were covered with snow and glazed with ice, and this condition of the mountain face made each step precarious. The amateurs of the party were of opinion that the ridge would prove attainable later in the season or in exceptionally fine weather. As to the possibility of climbing the rocks above—that is to say, the actual peak—none of the party were able to come to any very positive conclusion. At a rough guess it was estimated that the party halted between two and three hundred feet below the ridge. On the presentation of the guides report the whole caravan turned back and reached Chamouni safely, but not entirely without incident, for the monotony of the descent and Mr. Taylor’s head were broken by the fall of a big stone. This little accident, Mr. Pendlebury remarked with disinterested cheerfulness, was but a trifle. I have not been able to ascertain Mr. Taylor’s views on the subject.When our party first essayed the ascent we knew none of the above particulars, save only that some mountaineers had endeavoured to reach the ridge but had failed to ascend to any great height. Of the actual cause of their ill success, and whether it were owing to the unpropitious elements or to the actual difficulties encountered, we were unaware.Huts and sleeping outAt the time of which I am writing, a somewhat novel mode of ascending mountains was coming into vogue, which consisted in waiting for a suitable day at[pg 65]headquarters, starting at unheard-of hours, and completing the expedition in one day—that is, within twenty-four hours. It was argued in support of this plan, that it was economical and that bivouacking was but a laborious and expensive method of obtaining discomfort. There are, said the advocates of the method, but few mountains in the Alps which cannot be ascended with much greater comfort in one day than in two. The day’s climb is much more enjoyable when it is possible to start from sleeping quarters in which it is possible to sleep. The argument that repose in hotel beds, though undoubtedly more luxurious, was of comparatively little use if there were no time to enjoy it, was held to be little to the purpose. Some enthusiasts were wont to state that passing a night in a chalet, or those magnified sentry boxes called cabanes, constituted half the enjoyment on the expedition. This is a little strong—like the flavour of the cabanes—and if it were actually so the whole pleasure would be but small. The camper out arises in the morning from his delicious couch of soft new-mown hay in a spotty and sticky condition, attended with considerable local irritation, and feeling like a person who has recently had his hair cut, with a pinafore but loosely tied around his neck. Porters, like barbers, exhibit a propensity for indulging in garlic immediately before pursuing their avocation, which is not without discomfort to their employers. (And here I may note as a[pg 66]psychological fact that one action of this permeating vegetable is to induce confidential propensities in the consumer. The point may be deemed worthy of investigation, by personal experiment, by botanists and students of materia medica, men who in the interests of science are not prone to consider their personal comfort and finer sensibilities.) Again, in unsettled weather a fine day is often wasted by journeying up in the afternoon to some chalet, or hovel, merely to enjoy the pleasure of returning the following morning in the rain. There is some force too in the argument that but little actual time is gained by the first day’s performance, for it is very difficult to start at anything like the prearranged hour for departure from a camp. An immensity of time is always spent in lighting the morning fire, preparing breakfast, and getting under way. On the other side, some little time is undoubtedly saved by discarding the wholly superfluous ceremony of washing, a process at once suggesting itself to the mind of the Briton abroad if he beholds a basin and cold water.The sum of the argument would seem to be that camping out in some one else’s hut is but an unpleasant fiction; that if the climber chooses to go to the expense, he can succeed in making himself a trifle less comfortable in his own tent or under a rock than he would be in an hotel; and that he is the wisest man who refrains from bivouacking when it is not really neces[pg 67]sary and is able to make the best of matters when it is: and undoubtedly for many of the recognised expeditions it is essential to have every possible minute of spare time in hand.The Chamouni guide systemWe were naturally rather doubtful as to the successful issue of our expedition, at any rate at the first attempt, and we therefore impressed upon the guides the necessity of not divulging the plan. The secret, however, proved to be so big that it was too much for two, and they imparted consequently so much of the information as they had not adequate storage for in their own minds to any who chose to listen. Consequently our intentions were thoroughly well known before we started. There were in those days, perhaps, more good guides, at any rate there were fewer bad ones, in Chamouni than are to be found nowadays. We could not, however, obtain the services—even if we had desired them—of any of the local celebrities. As a matter of fact, we were both of opinion that a training in climbing, such as is acquired among the Oberland and Valais men by chamois hunting and constant rock work, would be most likely to have produced the qualities which would undoubtedly be needed on the aiguilles.The question of the efficiency of the Chamouni guides and of the Chamouni guide system, a question coeval with mountaineering itself, was burning then as fiercely as it does now. The Alpine Club had[pg 68]striven in vain to improve matters; they had pointed out that ability to answer a kind of mountaineering catechism did not in itself constitute a very reliable test of a peasant’s power; they had pointed out too that the plan of electing a“guide chef”from the general body of guides was one most open to abuse, one sure to lead to favouritism and injustice, and one obviously ill calculated to bring to the front any specially efficient man. But unhappily the regulations of the body of guides were, and still are, entangled hopelessly in the French equivalent for red tape. Jealousy and mistrust of the German-speaking guides, whom serious mountaineers were beginning to import in rather formidable numbers, were beginning to awaken in the simple bosoms of the Savoyard peasants; and our proceedings were consequently looked upon with contemptuous disfavour by those who had any knowledge of our project.A word on guidesOn August 18, 1873, we started. Our guides were Alexander Burgener as leader, Franz Andermatten, the best of companions, our guide, our friend, and sometimes our philosopher, as second string, while a taciturn porter of large frame and small mind, who came from the Saas valley, completed the tale. Of Burgener’s exceptional talent in climbing difficult rocks we had had already good proof, and no doubt he was, and still is, a man of remarkable daring, endurance, and activity on rocks. I had reached[pg 69]then that stage in the mountaineering art at which a man is prone to consider the guide he knows best as, beyond all comparison, the best guide that could possibly exist. The lapse of years renders me perhaps better able now to form a dispassionate judgment of Burgener’s capacity and skill. Both were very great. I have seen at their work most of the leaders in this department. Burgener never had the marvellous neatness and finish so characteristic of Melchior Anderegg, who, when mountaineering has passed away into the limbo of extinct sports, such as bear-baiting, croquet, and pell-mell, will, if he gets his deserts, even by those who remember Maguignaz, Carrel, Croz, and Almer, still be spoken of asthebest guide that ever lived. Nor was Burgener gifted with the same simple unaffected qualities which made Jakob Anderegg’s loss so keenly felt, nor the lightness and agility of Rey or Jaun; but he united well in himself qualities of strength, carefulness, perseverance and activity, and possessed in addition the numerous attributes of observation, experience, and desire for improvement in his art which together make up what is spoken of as the natural instinct of guides. These were the qualities that made him a first-rate, indeed an exceptional, guide.Nunc liberavi animam meam.There is an old saying, involving a sound doctrine, thatWhen you flatter lay it on thick;Some will come off, but a deal will stick.[pg 70]The porter proved himself a skilful and strong climber, but he was as silent as an oyster and, like that bivalve mollusc when the freshness of its youth has passed off, was perpetually on the gape.A landlord’s peculiaritiesA hot walk—it always is hot along this part—took us up to the Montanvert. The moonlight threw quaint, fantastic shadows along the path and made the dewy gossamer filaments which swung from branch to branch across the track twinkle into grey and silver; and anything more aggravating than these spiders’ threads at night it is hard to imagine. What earthly purpose these animals think they serve by this reckless nocturnal expenditure of bodily glue it is hard to say: possibly the lines are swung across in order that they may practise equilibrium; possibly the threads may serve as lines of escape and retreat after the male spinners have been a-wooing. The atmosphere through the wood was as stuffy as a ship’s saloon in a storm, and we were right glad to reach the Montanvert at 3.30A.M.Here, being athirst, we clamoured for refreshment. The landlord of the ramshackle hostelry at once appeared in full costume; indeed I observed that during the summer it was impossible to tell from his attire whether he had arisen immediately from bed or no. He seemed to act on the principle of the Norwegian peasant, who apparently undresses once a year when the winter commences, and resumes his garments when the light once more comes back[pg 71]and the summer season sets in. Our friend had cultivated to great perfection the art of half sleeping during his waking hours—that is, during such time as he might be called upon to provide entertainment for man and beast. Now at the Montanvert, during the tourists’ season, this period extended over the whole twenty-four hours. It was necessary, therefore, in order that he might enjoy a proper physiological period of rest, for him to remain in a dozing state—a sort of æstival hybernation—for the whole time, which in fact he did; or else he was by nature a very dull person, and had actually a very restricted stock of ideas.The landlord produced at once a battered teapot with a little sieve dangling from its snout, which had been stewing on the hob, and poured out the contained fluid into two stalked saucers of inconvenient diameter. Stimulated by this watery extract, we entered into conversation together. The sight of a tourist with an ice axe led by a kind of reflex process to the landlord’s unburdening his mind with his usual remarks. Like other natives of the valley he had but two ideas of“extraordinary”expeditions.“Monsieur is going to the Jardin?”he remarked.“No, monsieur isn’t.”“Then beyond a doubt monsieur will cross the Col du Géant?”he said, playing his trump card.“No, monsieur will not.”“Pardon—where does monsieur expect to go to?”“On the present occasion we go to try the Aiguille du Dru.”The landlord smiled in an[pg 72]aggravating manner.“Does monsieur think he will get up?”“Time will show.”“Ah!”The landlord, who had a chronic cold in the head, searched for his pockethandkerchief, but not finding it, modified the necessary sniff into one of derision, and then demanded the usual exorbitant price for the refreshment, amounting to about five times the value of the teapot, sieve and all. We paid, and left him chuckling softly to himself at our insane idea, as he replaced the teapot on the hob in readiness for the next arrival. That landlord, though physically sleepy, was still wide awake in matters of finance. He once charged me five francs for the loan of a secondhand collection of holes which he termed a blanket.We see a chamoisWe got on to the glacier at the usual point and made straight across the slippery hummocks to the grass slope encircling the base of the Aiguille du Dru and the Glacier de la Charpoua. The glacier above gives birth to a feeble meandering little stream which wanders fitfully down the mountain side. At first we kept to the left, but after a while crossed the little torrent, and bearing more to the right plodded leisurely up the steep grass and rock slope. We had made good progress when of a sudden Franz gave a loud whistle and then fell flat down. The other two guides immediately followed his example and beckoned to us with excited gesticulations to behave in a similarly foolish manner. Thereupon we too sat down,[pg 73]and enquired what the purport of this performance might be. It turned out that there was a very little chamois about half a mile off. Knowing that it would be impossible to induce the guides to move on till the animal had disappeared, we seized the opportunity of taking an early breakfast. The guides meanwhile wriggled about on their stomachs, with eyes starting out of their heads, possessed by an extraordinary desire to miss no single movement of the object of their attention.“See, it moves,”said Franz in a whisper.“Himmel! it is feeding,”said Burgener.“It must be the same that Johann saw three weeks ago.”“Ach! no, that was but a little one”(no true chamois hunter will ever allow that a brother sportsman can possibly have set eyes on a larger animal than himself).“Truly it is fine.”“Thunder weather! it moves its head.”In their excitement I regretted that I could not share, not being well versed in hunting craft: my own experience of sport in the Alps being limited to missing one marmot that was sitting on a rock licking its paws. In due course the chamois walked away. Apparently much relieved by there being no further necessity to continue in their former uncomfortable attitudes, the guides sat up and fell to a warm discussion as to the size of the animal. A chamois is to a guide as a fish to the baffled angler or the last new baby to a monthly nurse, and is always pronounced to be beyond question the finest[pg 74]that has ever been seen. To this they agreed generally, but Franz, whose spirits had suddenly evaporated, now shook his head dismally, with the remark that it was unlucky to see a single chamois, and that we should have no success that day. Undaunted by his croaking, we pursued our way to the right side of the glacier, while our guide, who had a ballad appropriate to every occasion, sang rather gaspingly a tremulous little funeral dirge. We worked well across to the right, in order to obtain the best possible view of the Aiguille, and halted repeatedly while discussing the best point at which to attack the rocks. While thus engaged in reconnoitring close under the cliffs of the ridge running between the Aiguille Moine and the Aiguille Verte, a considerable block of ice, falling from the rocks above, whizzed past just in front of us and capered gaily down the slope. Hereupon we came rather rapidly to the conclusion that we had better proceed. Half an hour further on we reached the top of a steep little snow slope, and a point secure from falling stones and ice. Recognising that we must soon cross back to the rocks of the Dru, we tried to come to a final conclusion as to the way to be chosen. As usual, everybody pointed out different routes: even a vestry meeting could hardly have been less unanimous. Some one now ventured to put a question that had been troubling in reality our minds for some time past, viz. which of the peaks that towered above[pg 75]us was really the Aiguille du Dru. On the left there were two distinct points which, though close together, were separated apparently by a deep rift, and some distance to the right of the col which the previous party had tried to reach, a sharp tooth of rock towered up to a considerable height. Evidently, however, from its position this latter needle could not be visible from Chamouni or from the Montanvert. Again, it was clear that the mass comprising the two points close together must be visible from the valley, but which of the two was the higher? Alexander gave as his opinion that the more distant of these two points, that on the right, was the higher, and turned to the porter for confirmation. That worthy nodded his head affirmatively with extreme sagacity, evidently implying that he was of the same opinion. Franz on the other hand thought the left-hand peak was the one that we ought to make for, arguing that it most resembled the Dru as seen from the Montanvert, that there was probably little difference in height between the two, that our ascent would not be believed in unless we were to place a flag on the point visible from Chamouni, and finally that the left-hand peak seemed to be the easier, and would probably be found to conceal the sharper point of the right-hand summit. Having expressed these views, he in turn looked towards the porter to ascertain his sentiments. The porter, who was evidently of a complaisant tempera[pg 76]ment, nodded his head very vigorously to intimate that these arguments seemed the more powerful of the two to his mind, and then cocked his head on one side in a knowing manner, intended to express that he was studying the angles and that he was prepared to find himself in the right whichever view prevailed. We did not find out for certain till some time after that the right-hand summit, though concealed from view by the Montanvert, is very distinctly visible from Chamouni: excusable ignorance, as most of the Chamouni people are unaware of it to this day. Professor Forbes, as Mr. Douglas Freshfield has kindly pointed out to me, with his usual accuracy distinguished and also measured the two summits, giving their heights respectively as 12,178, and 12,245 feet.3Knowing little as we did then of the details of the mountain, we followed Franz’s advice and made for the left-hand peak, under the impression that if one proved accessible the other might also, and there really seemed no reason why we should not, if occasion demanded, ascend both.Doubts as to the peakLeading up from the glacier two distinct lines of attack presented themselves. The right-hand ridge descends to the col very precipitously, but still we had some idea that the rocks did not look wholly impossible. Again, on the left of the Dru the rocks are cut away very abruptly and form the long precipitous[pg 77]ridge seen from the Montanvert. This ridge was so jagged that we could see no possible advantage in climbing to any part of it, except just at the termination where it merges into the south-western face of the main mountain. The choice therefore, in our judgment, lay between storming the mountain by the face right opposite to us or else making for the col and the right-hand ridge; but the latter was the route that Messrs. Pendlebury and Kennedy had followed, and we could not hope to succeed where such giants had failed. Burgener indeed wished to try, but the rest of the party were unanimously in favour of attempting to find a way up the face, a route that at the worst had the merit of novelty. We thought too that if a closer acquaintance proved that the crags were ill arranged for upward locomotion, we might be able to work round on the face and so reach the col by a more circuitous route. With the naked eye—especially a myopic one—the rocks appeared unpromising enough; while viewed through the telescope the rocks looked utterly impossible. But little faith, however, can be rested in telescopic observations of a mountain, so far as the question of determining a route is concerned. Amateurs, who, as a rule, understand the use of a telescope much better than guides, have not the requisite experience to determine the value of what they see, while but few guides see enough to form any basis for determination. Moreover, the instrument we carried[pg 78]with us, though it had an extraordinary number of sections and pulled out like the ill-fated tradesman’s trousers in a pantomime, was not a very remarkable one in the matter of definition. Still it is always proper and orthodox to look at a new peak through the telescope, and we were determined not to neglect any formality on the present occasion.Telescopic observationsWe were now rather more than half-way up the Glacier de la Charpoua. To reach the most promising-looking point at which we might hope to get on the rocks, it was necessary to travel straight across the snow at about the level on which we stood. Now, this Glacier de la Charpoua is not constructed on ordinary principles. Instead of the orthodox transverse bergschrund it possesses a longitudinal crack running up its whole length, a peculiarity that vexed us hugely. Half a dozen times did we attempt to cross by some tempting-looking bridge, but on each occasion we were brought to a stand by impassable crevasses; then had to turn back, go up a little farther, and try again. It was already late in the day and we could ill spare the time lost in this to and fro movement. Eventually we reached a little patch of rocks not far from the head of the glacier. No sooner had we reached these rocks than the guides hunted up a suitable place and concealed some utterly worthless property as carefully as if they expected evil-minded marauders to be wandering about, seeking what they might pilfer.[pg 79]Having effected the cache with due care, Franz once again burst into a strange carol, the burden of which was unintelligible, but the chorus made frequent allusion to“der Teufel.”We now saw that, after all, the only feasible plan would be to cut our way still higher up a steep slope, and thus to work right round, describing a large curve. An occasional step required to be scraped, for the glacier is in shadow till late in the morning, owing to the Aiguille Verte intervening and cutting off the sun’s rays. Throughout the day our second guide had been burning with a desire to exhibit the good qualities of the most portentous ice axe I ever saw, an instrument of an unwieldy character resembling a labourer’s pick on the top of a May pole. Its dimensions were monstrous and its weight preposterous: moreover, the cutting spike had an evil curve and, instead of hewing out blocks of ice neatly, preferred to ram a huge hole in the slope and stick fast therein, while a quiver ran through its mighty frame and communicated itself to the striker, who shuddered at each blow as after taking a dose of very bitter physic. However, Franz was so proud of his halberd that we were obliged to sacrifice rapid progress to the consideration of his feelings, and he was accordingly sent on to cut the steps which were now found necessary. With no little exertion did he construct a staircase of which the steps were about the size of foot baths, and with no slight impatience did[pg 80]we watch his gymnastics and athletic flourishes, which were a sort of mixture of tossing the caber and throwing the hammer combined with a touch of polo. Ultimately we were able to quit the glacier for the actual face of the mountain, at a point probably not very much below that struck by the previous party; but it was our intention at once to bear off to the left.Franz and his mighty axeWe blundered a little on the rocks at first after the long spell of snow-walking. A cry from Franz caused us to look round, and we perceived that he had got entangled with the big axe, the spike of which was sticking into the third button of his waistcoat, causing him, as the strain on the rope above and below folded him up in a rather painful manner, to assume the attitude of a mechanical toy monkey on a stick. Fearing that he might be placed in the condition in which cats’ meat is usually offered for sale, we slackened the rope and saved him from impending perforation, but with the result that the axe bounded off down the slope, turned two or three summersaults, and then stuck up defiantly in a distant patch of snow, looking like a sign-post. While Franz went off to recover his loved treasure we huddled together on a very little ledge of rock, and sat there in a row like busts on a shelf—if the simile be not considered anatomically inappropriate. But these delays had wasted much time, and already success seemed doubtful. Little time could now be devoted to consultation, and[pg 81]little good would have come of it; now that we were on the rocks the only thing to do was to go straight on and see what would happen. At the same time we had a dim consciousness that we were considerably to the right of the best line of ascent. Our“general idea”—to borrow a military phrase of which, by the way, it may be remarked that the idea in question is usually confined to the general and is not shared in by the troops—consisted in making for the left-hand side or Montanvert aspect of the final peak. We set our teeth, whatever that may mean, then fell to with a will and for some two hours went with scarcely a check. And a rare two hours’ climb we had. The very thought of it makes the pen travel swiftly over the paper, as the scene comes back in every detail. How Burgener led the way without hesitation and almost without mistake; how our second guide chattered unceasingly, caring nought for a listener; how they both stuck to the rocks like limpets; how the big axe got in everybody’s way; how the rope got caught on every projecting spur of rock, jerking back the unwary, or when loose sweeping down showers of small angular stones from the little platforms and ridges, thereby engendering ill blood and contumely; how the silent porter climbed stolidly after us, and in the plenitude of his taciturn good-humour poked at us from below with his staff at inconvenient moments and in sensitive places; how at one moment we were[pg 82]flat against the rock, all arms and legs, like crushed spiders, and at another gathered into great loops like a cheese maggot on the point of making a leap; how a volley of little stones came whistling cheerily down from above, playfully peppering us all round; how our spirits rose with our bodies till we became as excited as children: of all these things it boots not to give any detailed description. Those who can recollect similar occasions need but to be reminded of them, and, to tell the truth, the minutiæ, though they are so graven upon the mind that a clear impression could be struck off years afterwards, are apt to prove somewhat tedious. Two facts I may note. One, that the rocks were at first very much easier than was expected; another, that we should have done better had we discarded the rope on this part of the climb: the rocks were hardly a fit place for those who could not dispense with its use. Ever and anon the guides’ spirits would rise to that level which may be called the shouting point, and they would jödel till they were black in the face, while the melodious roll of sound echoed cheerily back from the distant cliffs of the Aiguille Moine. And so we journeyed up.A start in the wrong directionMeanwhile the weather had changed; black clouds had come rolling up and were gathering ominously above us; it was evident that we had no chance of reaching the summit that day, even if it were practicable, but still we persevered desperately[pg 83]in the hope of seeing some possible route for a future attack. Progress, however, on a rock peak is necessarily slow when there are five on the rope, and we should probably have done more wisely if we had divided into two parties. We kept well to the left to a point on the face where a huge tower of rock stands four-square to all the winds of heaven that blow; and above us, as a matter of fact, there seemed to be a good many winds. This landmark, very conspicuous and characteristic of these aiguilles, seemed to be close to the ridge, but on reaching it we found that there was still a stiff passage intervening between us and the point from which we could overlook the other side of the mountain. Now we bore to the right and the climbing became more difficult. We made our way straight up a very shallow gully and finally reached a point on the western ridge overlooking the Montanvert, close to where this ridge merges into the corresponding face of the peak. Here a halt was called, for two reasons. In the first place a few flakes of snow were softly falling around and the gathering clouds betokened more to follow. Secondly, so far as we could judge through the mist, it was apparently impossible to ascend any higher from the place we had reached. So we cast off the rope and clambered separately to various points of vantage to survey the work that lay before us. The summit of the peak, enveloped in thin cloud, appeared to tower no great height above[pg 84]us, but we were too close under the cliff to estimate its elevation very correctly. At the time we thought that if we could only keep up the pace at which we had been going, an hour’s climb would have sufficed to reach the top. We found, it may be remarked parenthetically, that we were egregiously in error in this estimate some years later. The shifting clouds made the rock face—that is, the small extent of it that we could see at all—look much more difficult than in all probability it actually was. Through the mists we made out, indistinctly, a formidable-looking irregular crack in the rock face running very straight up and rather to our left, which apparently constituted the only possible route from our position to a higher level. But from where we stood we could not have reached the lower end of this crack without a ladder of about fifty feet in length, and the mist entirely prevented us from judging whether we could reach it by a détour. The choice lay between hunting for some such line or else in trying what seemed on the whole more practicable, viz. working round by the north-east face again, so as to search for a more easy line of ascent. But the latter alternative would have involved of necessity a considerable descent. While we debated what course to take the mists swept up thicker and thicker from below, and in a moment the peak above us was concealed and all the view cut off. A piercingly cold wind began to rise and a sharp storm[pg 85]of hail and sleet descended. Hints were dropped about the difficulty of descending rocks glazed over with ice with a proper amount of deliberation. It was obviously impossible to go up and might soon become very difficult to go down. The question was not actually put, but, in conformity with what was evidently the general sense of the meeting, we somewhat reluctantly made up our minds to return. A dwarf stone man was constructed, the rope readjusted, and half an hour’s descent put us out of the mist and snow. We stopped again and stared upwards blankly at the leve line of mist hanging heavily against the peak. Burgener now came forward with a definite resolution and proposed that we should stay where we were for the night and try again the next day. This was referred to a sub-committee, who reported against the suggestion on the ground that the stock of provisions left consisted of a tablespoonful of wine, four rolls, and a small piece of cheese which had strayed from the enveloping paper in the porter’s pocket and as a consequence smelt of tobacco and was covered with hairs and fluff. These articles of diet were spread on a rock and we mentally calculated the exact proportion that would fall to each man’s share if we attempted, as proposed, to subsist on them for a day and a half. But little deliberation was required. We decided at once to return. The porter gathered the fragments lovingly together and replaced them with other curious[pg 86]articles in his side pocket. By 8.30P.M.we were back at Chamouni, having been out a little under twenty hours.An adjournmentA day or two later we made up our minds to start once more. Great preparations were made for an early departure, the idea that we should find it distasteful to start at the hour at which a London ball begins being scouted, as it usually is over-night. We impressed on an intelligent“boots”with great earnestness the absolute necessity of waking us precisely at midnight, and then went to our repose, feeling about as much inclined for sleep as a child does during the afternoon siesta intended to prepare it for the glories of a pantomime. The“boots”did not fail; in fact he was extra-punctual, as our departure was the signal for his retiring. At midnight the party assembled in the little courtyard in front of the hotel, but a dismal sight met our gaze. Under the influence of a warm sou’-wester, thick black clouds had filled the valley, and a gentle drizzle reminded us of the balmy climate of our own metropolis in November. Our Alpine tour for the season was nearly at an end, and we gazed despondently around. Ultimately one practical person suggested that if we did not go to the mountain we might as well go to bed, and the practical person endorsed his suggestion by walking off. A scurvy practical joke did the clerk of the weather play on us that night. In the morning the bright sunbeams[pg 87]came streaming in through the window, the sky was cloudless and the outline of every peak was sharply defined in the clear air. A more perfect morning for the expedition could hardly have been chosen. Some ill-timed remarks at breakfast referring pointedly to people who talk a good deal over-night about early starts, and the deep concern of the“boots”at our presumed slothfulness, goaded us to desperation. We determined to start again and to have one more try the next day whatever the weather might prove to be. Once more we found ourselves in the small hours of the morning on the path leading to Les Ponts. Had it not been for the previous day’s lesson we should probably have turned back from this point, for the whole of the mountain opposite was concealed in thick drifting mist. The guides flatly refused to go on as matters stood. We were determined on our side not to give it up, and so a compromise was effected. It was agreed to wait for an hour or two and see if matters mended. So we stretched ourselves out on a damp sloping rock, prepared to resume our journey at the slightest indication of a change for the better. Rest at such a time even under these hard, not to say stony, conditions is seductive, and, as we lay half dozing, strange heretical thoughts came crowding into the mind. Why toil up this mountain when one can rest in luxury on these knobby rocks? Why labour over the shifting moraine, the deceitful glacier, the slippery[pg 88]rock? What is the good of it all? Can it be vanity or——“Vorwärts!”The dream vanished as the cheery cry broke out from the guide engaged on outpost duty, and as we rose and stretched ourselves the whole aspect of affairs seemed changed. A distinct break in the clouds at the head of the Mer de Glace gave promise of better things in store, and we felt almost guilty of having wasted an hour or more at our halt. The break became larger and larger, and before long the great cloud banks resolved into one huge streamer flying from the summit of the peak. I fancy that, at any rate in the early stages of mountaineering, many good chances are thrown away on such days, for guides are as a rule somewhat prone to despondency in the early morning hours. Once started, however, they became wondrously keen, complained of our delay, and even asserted with some effrontery that they had predicted fine weather all the time, and this without a blush; still some one rather neatly defined blushing as a suffusion least seldom seen in those who have the most occasion for it, and guides share with politicians a certain power of manipulating their opinions to suit the exigencies of the moment. The traces of our former attempt assisted us materially on the glacier. Our plan of attack consisted in getting on the rocks at our former point, but working on this occasion much more directly up the face. Burgener conceived that by following this line of assault we[pg 89]should be able to ascend, by means of a gully which existed only in his own imagination, to a more practicable part of the peak. Between the two summits of the Aiguille du Dru may be seen, at any rate in photographs, a tempting-looking streak of snow: it seemed possible, if we could once reach the lower point of this streak, to follow its line upwards. The lower peak of the Dru is well rounded on its eastern face, and the rocks appear more broken than in other parts of the mountain.The expedition resumedIf we could but once reach the cleft between the peaks there seemed every chance of our being able to reach the lower summit. At the outset progress was fast. We followed our former line till we were in sight of the rock tower and then at once bore off to the right. The climbing was rather more difficult, at least it seemed so to us in those days, than on the other part of the mountain with which we had previously made acquaintance. A series of short flat gullies had to be climbed, but there were exceedingly few inequalities to help us. The rope was of little or no use and might perhaps have been laid aside with advantage. We soon found that we had reached a higher point than at our previous attempt, and as the leader constantly returned favourable reports our spirits rose; so elated in fact did we become that the exact formalities to be observed on reaching the top were seriously discussed whenever the occasion offered for conversation, which[pg 90]was not very often. Old Franz chattered away to himself, as was his wont when matters went well, and on looking back on one occasion I perceived the strange phenomenon of a smile illuminating the porter’s features. Howbeit, this worthy spake no words of satisfaction, but pulled ever at his empty pipe. By dint of wriggling over a smooth sloping stone slab we had got into a steep rock gully which promised to lead us to a good height. Burgener, assisted by much pushing and prodding from below and aided on his own part by much snorting and some strong language, had managed to climb on to a great overhanging boulder that cut off the view from the rest of the party below. As he disappeared from sight we watched the paying out of the rope with as much anxiety as a fisherman eyes his vanishing line when the salmon runs. Presently the rope ceased to move and we waited for a few moments in suspense. We felt that the critical moment of the expedition had arrived, and the fact that our own view was exceedingly limited made us all the more anxious to hear the verdict.“How does it look?”we called out. The answer came back in patois, a bad sign in such emergencies. For a minute or two an animated conversation was kept up; then we decided to take another opinion and accordingly hoisted up our second guide. The chatter was redoubled.“What does it look like?”we shouted again.“Not possible from where we are,”[pg 91]was the melancholy answer, and in a tone that crashed at once all our previous elation. I could not find words at the moment to express my disappointment: but the porter could and gallantly he came to the rescue. He opened his mouth for the first time and spoke, and he said very loud indeed that it was“verdammt.”Precisely: that is just what it was. Having made this short speech, the porter allowed the smile to fade away from his features, shook out some imaginary ashes and proceeded to light some visionary tobacco, sucking at a lighted match through the medium of an empty pipe. It seemed hard to believe at first that we were to be baulked when so near the summit, and it was not till the guides had tried again and again to storm the almost vertical wall of smooth rock and had shown the utter impossibility of turning it either right or left, that we felt we were really beaten. One more forlorn chance remained: we might try the west face of the mountain from the spot we had reached at our first attempt, when the weather had prevented us from making any further progress. Had there been more time at our disposal we should have done better to try another line of ascent more to our right, that is, nearer to the col, and it might be possible to reach the cleft between the two summits by this means. As for the snow streak which looked so tempting at a distance, it is a delusion and a snare, if the latter term be applicable to a place[pg 92]which appears to be much more difficult to get into than it probably would be to get out of. We had already pretty fully realised that the mountain was more difficult to ascend than we had ever contemplated, and it seemed advisable at the moment to make for some definite point which at any rate we felt sure of reaching and to study the peak in detail to the best of our ability; so we made towards our cairn, though with little hope of gaining much knowledge thereby.A sticking pointWithout much difficulty, but not without some little danger from falling stones (though on the whole, the mountain is remarkably free from these annoyances, there being as a matter of fact but few loose stones to fall), we reached our former point and were able to judge distinctly of how much higher we had reached at our second attempt. We saw also that upward progress from the point on which we stood would not be possible, but it must be remembered that we were able only to see a small strip of the mountain lying directly above. Every crag that was not absolutely vertical appeared to overhang, and the few small cracks that might have afforded hand and foot hold led nowhere in particular. Altogether the view was depressing although limited. There was no time to hunt about for other routes, or we should certainly have done so, for we felt that though beaten our discomfiture only arose from the fact that we had chosen a wrong line of ascent. Possibly within a few yards of us lay a[pg 93]feasible route, but we knew not on which side it might be. Here it occurred to the porter for the first time that his pipe was empty and had been so all day: he thereupon made his second remark, which consisted in an audible request for something to put in it. We had dragged up with us (as a matter of fact the porter had carried it the whole time) some 200 feet of rope, thinking it might help us in the descent, but the part of the mountain on which we were presents no more difficulties in this respect than does Avernus.Beaten backArrived on the snow slope opposite the rock face on which we had been climbing during the day, we stopped, extended the telescope, and tried to make out our exact line, and endeavoured also to discover what had been our error; no easy task, as any persons of experience will admit. At any time the appearance of this peak is deceptive, and the outline no more guides you to a knowledge of the natural details than does the outline of a fashionable lady’s dress. But as we looked the mountain seemed flattened out by reason of a blue evening mist which obscured all the irregularities. So we turned and resumed our journey down, running hard across the Mer de Glace, for the shades of night drew on apace, and reached Chamouni at 8.30 in the evening, leaving the guides at the Montanvert with half a bottle of thin red wine between three of them. We were overtaken by Edouard Cupelin, one of the best of the Chamouni guides, at[pg 94]any rate on rock mountains, on our way down, and he gave us a rather sensational account of his own adventures on the peak. In justice to him it should be mentioned that he was almost the only Chamouni guide who seemed to think the ascent possible, and in his opinion the general line that we had adopted was the correct one. Our second expedition thus from first to last occupied about 20½ hours, but the halts were not nearly so numerous as on the first occasion. The experience of our two days’ climbing led us to the conclusion that Cupelin was right. From the peculiar character of the rocks and the fact that our climbing lay chiefly along short flat gullies we were unable, as already remarked, to get a very clear idea of any part of the mountain except that on which we were actually engaged, and we were led to the opinion that the only plan to find a possible route would consist in trying in succession from below the different parts of the southern face. The final peak, which from this side shoots up clearly defined from the great mass of the mountain, seemed to us tolerably easy of ascent provided one could reach the base. A sort of depression extends three parts of the way round, and the edge of this shallow moat appeared to be defended by an inaccessible belt of vertical rock. The actual rocks were wholly unlike any met with elsewhere in our experience. Great vertical slabs were fitted together with an accuracy which was beautiful[pg 95]in its perfection, but irritating beyond conception to the climber. Progress upwards, when above the level of the col, necessitated a series of fatiguing gymnastics like swimming uphill, but the rocks where they were possible proved invariably firm and good. On both occasions we were stopped by sheer difficulty and probably saw the mountain at its very best. The snow on the rocks, which proved such a formidable difficulty to Mr. Pendlebury’s party, had almost entirely disappeared before our assault. The rocks were warm and the weather on the second day was perfect.Results gainedSuch is the history of our first two attempts to climb this mountain. They served but to whet our appetite for success, but it was not till years after that we were fortunate enough to meet with that success.

[pg 56]CHAPTER III.EARLY ATTEMPTS ON THE AIGUILLE DU DRUThe Alps and the early mountaineers—The last peaks to surrender—The Aiguille du Dru—Messrs. Kennedy and Pendlebury’s attempt on the peak—One-day expeditions in the Alps and thoughts on huts and sleeping out—The Chamouni guide system—A word on guides, past and present—The somnolent landlord and his peculiarities—Some of the party see a chamois—Doubts as to the peak and the way—The duplicity of the Aiguille deceives us—Telescopic observations—An ill-arranged glacier—Franz and his mighty axe—A start on the rocks in the wrong direction—Progress reported—An adjournment—The rocks of the lower peak of the Aiguille du Dru—Our first failure—The expedition resumed—A new line of ascent—We reach the sticking point—Beaten back—The results gained by the two days’ climbing.The last peaks to surrenderAccounts of failures on the mountains in books of Alpine adventure are as much out of place, according to some critics, as a new hat in a crowded church. Humanly speaking, the possession of this head-gear under such circumstances renders it impossible to divert the thoughts wholly from worldly affairs. This, however, by the way. Now the pioneers of the Alps, the Stephenses, the Willses, the Moores, the Morsheads, and many others, had used up all new material with alarming rapidity, I might say voracity,[pg 57]before the climbing epoch to which the present sketches relate. There is an old story of a man who arrived running in a breathless condition on a railway platform just in time to see the train disappearing.“You didn’t run fast enough, sir,”remarked the porter to him.“You idiot!”was the answer,“I ran plenty fast enough, but I didn’t begin running soon enough.”Even so was it with the climbers of our generation. They climbed with all possible diligence, but they began their climbing too late. Novelty, that is the desire for achieving new expeditions, was still considered of paramount importance, but unfortunately there was very little new material left. It is difficult to realise adequately now the real veneration entertained for an untrodden peak. A certain amount of familiarity seemed indispensable before a new ascent was even seriously contemplated. It had occurred to certain bold minds that the aiguilles around Chamouni might not be quite as bad as they looked. In 1873 the chief of the still unconquered peaks of the Mont Blanc district were the Aiguille des Charmoz, the Aiguille Blaitière, the Aiguille du Géant, the Aiguille Peuteret, the Aiguille du Dru, and a few other minor points. All of these have since been captured, some of them bound in chains. Opinions differed considerably as to their accessibility. Some hopeful spirits thought that by constantly“pegging away”they might be scaled; others thought that the only feasible[pg 58]plan would be indeed to peg away, but were of opinion that the pegs should be of iron and driven into the rock. Such views naturally lead to discussions, sometimes rather heated, as to whether mountaineering morality might fitly tolerate such aids to the climber. Of all the peaks mentioned above, the Aiguille du Dru and the Aiguille du Géant were considered as the most hopeful by the leading guides, though the older members of that body held out little prospect of success. It is a rather curious fact that the majority of the leading guides who gave their opinions to us in the matter thought that the Aiguille du Géant was the more promising peak to attack. Subsequent experience has proved that they were greatly in error in this judgment. The Aiguille du Géant has indeed been ascended, but much more aid than is comprised in the ordinary mountaineer’s equipment was found necessary. In fact, the stronghold was not carried by direct assault, but by sapping and mining. There is a certain rock needle in Norway which, I am told, was once, and once only, ascended by a party on surveying operations bent. No other means could be found, so a wooden structure was built up around the peak, such as may be seen investing a dilapidated church steeple; and the mountain, like the Royal Martyr of history, yielded up its crowning point at the scaffold. We did not like the prospect of employing any such architectural means to gain our end and[pg 59]the summit, and, from no very clearly defined reasons, turned our attention chiefly to the Aiguille du Dru. Perhaps the prominent appearance of this Aiguille, and the fact that its outline was so familiar from the Montanvert, gradually imbued us with a certain sense of familiarity, which ultimately developed into a notion that if not actually accessible it might at least be worth trying. It seemed too prominent to be impossible; from its height—12,517 feet only—the mountain would doubtless not attract much attention, were it not so advantageously placed. Thousands of tourists had gazed on its symmetrical form: it had been photographed, stared at through binoculars, portrayed in little distorted pictures on useless work-boxes, trays and other toy-shop gimcracks, more often than any other mountain of the chain, Mont Blanc excepted. Like an undersized volunteer officer, it no doubt made the most of its height. But in truth the Aiguille du Dru is a magnificent mountain form, with its vast dark precipices on the north face, with its long lines of cliff, broken and jagged and sparsely wrinkled with gullies free from even a patch or trace of snow. Point after point, and pinnacle after pinnacle catch the gaze as we follow the edge of the north-west“Kamm,”until the eye rests at last on the singularly graceful isosceles triangle of rock which forms the peak. It is spoken of lightly as merely a tooth of rock jutting up from the ridge which[pg 60]culminates in the Aiguille Verte, but when viewed from the Glacier de la Charpoua it is obviously a separate mountain; at any rate it became such when the highest point of the ridge, the Aiguille Verte, had been climbed by somebody else. The cleft in the ridge on the right side of the main mass of the Aiguille du Dru is a very deep one as seen from the glacier, and the sharp needle of rock which is next in the chain is a long way from the Aiguille du Dru itself. North and south the precipices run sheer down to the glaciers beneath. The mountain has then four distinct sides, three of them running down to great depths. Thus, even in the prehistoric days of Alpine climbing, it had some claim to individuality and might fairly be considered as something more than, as it were, one unimportant pinnacle on the roof of some huge cathedral. Perhaps, however, repeated failures to ascend the mountain begot undue veneration and caused an aspiring climber to look with a prejudiced eye on its dimensions.The Aiguille du DruSo far as I know, the mountain had never been assailed till 1873, when Messrs. Pendlebury and Kennedy made an attempt. Mr. R. Pendlebury has kindly furnished me with notes of the climb, which I may be allowed to reproduce nearly in his own words:—Two parties started simultaneously for the expedition. One was composed of Messrs. Kennedy and Marshall, with the guides Johann Fischer and Ulric Almer of Grindelwald; the other party consisted of the Rev.[pg 61]C. Taylor, Messrs. W. M. and R. Pendlebury, with the guides Hans Baumann, Peter Baumann, and Edouard Cupelin. The first-mentioned party slept at the Montanvert, while the others enjoyed themselves in a bivouac high up on the side of the Glacier de la Charpoua between the Aiguille du Dru and the Aiguille Moine. This Glacier de la Charpoua, it may be mentioned, is sometimes called the Glacier du Chapeau.The first attemptThe bivouac appears to have been so comfortable that Mr. Pendlebury and his friends did not take advantage of their start. The Montanvert detachment, who found no such inducement to stay one moment longer than was absolutely necessary2in their costly quarters, caught them up the next morning, and the whole party started together. Mr. Kennedy’s guides kept to the left of the Glacier de la Charpoua, which looks more broken up than the right-hand side, but apparently proved better going. This, however, it should be observed, was in 1873, and these hanging glaciers alter marvellously in detail from year to year, though always preserving from a distance the same general features. On the same principle, at the proper distance, a mother may be mistaken for her daughter, especially by a judicious person. But on drawing near, however discreet the observer may be, he is yet conscious of little furrows, diminutive[pg 62]wrinkles, and perhaps of a general shrinkage not to be found in the more recent specimen. Speaking very generally, I should say that these glaciers are, on the whole, easier to traverse than they used to be: at any rate my own personal observation of this particular little glacier extends over a period of some years, and the intricacies—it is hardly proper to call them difficulties—were distinctly less towards the end of the time than they were at the beginning. Of course a different interpretation might be put upon such an opinion: with the evolution of mountaineering skill the complexity of these crumpled up snow-fields may seem to have disentangled, but I am assured that in this particular case it was not so.First attempt on the peakThis digression must be pardoned. It arose naturally from the circumstance that the route Mr. Kennedy adopted would have proved, at any rate in later years, a digression from the best way. Mr. Pendlebury’s party went straight up, keeping, that is, to the right-hand side of the glacier. Towards the upper part the snow slopes became steeper, and soon some step-cutting was required. The object in view was to reach the lowest point in the ridge between the Aiguille du Dru and the Aiguille Verte. It was thought that, by turning to the left from the col, it might be possible to reach the summit by the eastern arête. The col itself from below seemed easily attainable by means of a narrow zigzagging[pg 63]gully, interrupted here and there, that runs down from the summit of the ridge. Ascending by the rocks on the left of the gully the party made for some little way good progress, but then a sudden change came over the scene. After a consultation, it was proposed that the guides Hans Baumann, Peter Baumann, and Fischer should go on a little by themselves and make for the ridge, which they estimated lay about half an hour above them. They were then to examine the rocks above and to bring back a report. The rest of the party remained where they were, and disported themselves as comfortably as circumstances would permit. Hour after hour, however, passed away, and the three guides seemed to make but little progress. They returned at last with the melancholy tidings that they had climbed nearly up to the ridge and had found the rocks very difficult and dangerous. (It should be noted that the line of attack chosen on this occasion—the first serious attempt on the peak—was devised by Hans Baumann, and it says much for his sagacity that this very route proved years afterwards to be the right one.) Questioned as to the advisability of proceeding upwards, the guides employed their favourite figure of speech and remarked that not for millions of francs would they consent to try again. Hans Baumann asserted that he had never climbed more difficult rocks. This opinion, as Mr. Pendlebury suggested at the time, was probably[pg 64]owing to the fact that the cliffs above were covered with snow and glazed with ice, and this condition of the mountain face made each step precarious. The amateurs of the party were of opinion that the ridge would prove attainable later in the season or in exceptionally fine weather. As to the possibility of climbing the rocks above—that is to say, the actual peak—none of the party were able to come to any very positive conclusion. At a rough guess it was estimated that the party halted between two and three hundred feet below the ridge. On the presentation of the guides report the whole caravan turned back and reached Chamouni safely, but not entirely without incident, for the monotony of the descent and Mr. Taylor’s head were broken by the fall of a big stone. This little accident, Mr. Pendlebury remarked with disinterested cheerfulness, was but a trifle. I have not been able to ascertain Mr. Taylor’s views on the subject.When our party first essayed the ascent we knew none of the above particulars, save only that some mountaineers had endeavoured to reach the ridge but had failed to ascend to any great height. Of the actual cause of their ill success, and whether it were owing to the unpropitious elements or to the actual difficulties encountered, we were unaware.Huts and sleeping outAt the time of which I am writing, a somewhat novel mode of ascending mountains was coming into vogue, which consisted in waiting for a suitable day at[pg 65]headquarters, starting at unheard-of hours, and completing the expedition in one day—that is, within twenty-four hours. It was argued in support of this plan, that it was economical and that bivouacking was but a laborious and expensive method of obtaining discomfort. There are, said the advocates of the method, but few mountains in the Alps which cannot be ascended with much greater comfort in one day than in two. The day’s climb is much more enjoyable when it is possible to start from sleeping quarters in which it is possible to sleep. The argument that repose in hotel beds, though undoubtedly more luxurious, was of comparatively little use if there were no time to enjoy it, was held to be little to the purpose. Some enthusiasts were wont to state that passing a night in a chalet, or those magnified sentry boxes called cabanes, constituted half the enjoyment on the expedition. This is a little strong—like the flavour of the cabanes—and if it were actually so the whole pleasure would be but small. The camper out arises in the morning from his delicious couch of soft new-mown hay in a spotty and sticky condition, attended with considerable local irritation, and feeling like a person who has recently had his hair cut, with a pinafore but loosely tied around his neck. Porters, like barbers, exhibit a propensity for indulging in garlic immediately before pursuing their avocation, which is not without discomfort to their employers. (And here I may note as a[pg 66]psychological fact that one action of this permeating vegetable is to induce confidential propensities in the consumer. The point may be deemed worthy of investigation, by personal experiment, by botanists and students of materia medica, men who in the interests of science are not prone to consider their personal comfort and finer sensibilities.) Again, in unsettled weather a fine day is often wasted by journeying up in the afternoon to some chalet, or hovel, merely to enjoy the pleasure of returning the following morning in the rain. There is some force too in the argument that but little actual time is gained by the first day’s performance, for it is very difficult to start at anything like the prearranged hour for departure from a camp. An immensity of time is always spent in lighting the morning fire, preparing breakfast, and getting under way. On the other side, some little time is undoubtedly saved by discarding the wholly superfluous ceremony of washing, a process at once suggesting itself to the mind of the Briton abroad if he beholds a basin and cold water.The sum of the argument would seem to be that camping out in some one else’s hut is but an unpleasant fiction; that if the climber chooses to go to the expense, he can succeed in making himself a trifle less comfortable in his own tent or under a rock than he would be in an hotel; and that he is the wisest man who refrains from bivouacking when it is not really neces[pg 67]sary and is able to make the best of matters when it is: and undoubtedly for many of the recognised expeditions it is essential to have every possible minute of spare time in hand.The Chamouni guide systemWe were naturally rather doubtful as to the successful issue of our expedition, at any rate at the first attempt, and we therefore impressed upon the guides the necessity of not divulging the plan. The secret, however, proved to be so big that it was too much for two, and they imparted consequently so much of the information as they had not adequate storage for in their own minds to any who chose to listen. Consequently our intentions were thoroughly well known before we started. There were in those days, perhaps, more good guides, at any rate there were fewer bad ones, in Chamouni than are to be found nowadays. We could not, however, obtain the services—even if we had desired them—of any of the local celebrities. As a matter of fact, we were both of opinion that a training in climbing, such as is acquired among the Oberland and Valais men by chamois hunting and constant rock work, would be most likely to have produced the qualities which would undoubtedly be needed on the aiguilles.The question of the efficiency of the Chamouni guides and of the Chamouni guide system, a question coeval with mountaineering itself, was burning then as fiercely as it does now. The Alpine Club had[pg 68]striven in vain to improve matters; they had pointed out that ability to answer a kind of mountaineering catechism did not in itself constitute a very reliable test of a peasant’s power; they had pointed out too that the plan of electing a“guide chef”from the general body of guides was one most open to abuse, one sure to lead to favouritism and injustice, and one obviously ill calculated to bring to the front any specially efficient man. But unhappily the regulations of the body of guides were, and still are, entangled hopelessly in the French equivalent for red tape. Jealousy and mistrust of the German-speaking guides, whom serious mountaineers were beginning to import in rather formidable numbers, were beginning to awaken in the simple bosoms of the Savoyard peasants; and our proceedings were consequently looked upon with contemptuous disfavour by those who had any knowledge of our project.A word on guidesOn August 18, 1873, we started. Our guides were Alexander Burgener as leader, Franz Andermatten, the best of companions, our guide, our friend, and sometimes our philosopher, as second string, while a taciturn porter of large frame and small mind, who came from the Saas valley, completed the tale. Of Burgener’s exceptional talent in climbing difficult rocks we had had already good proof, and no doubt he was, and still is, a man of remarkable daring, endurance, and activity on rocks. I had reached[pg 69]then that stage in the mountaineering art at which a man is prone to consider the guide he knows best as, beyond all comparison, the best guide that could possibly exist. The lapse of years renders me perhaps better able now to form a dispassionate judgment of Burgener’s capacity and skill. Both were very great. I have seen at their work most of the leaders in this department. Burgener never had the marvellous neatness and finish so characteristic of Melchior Anderegg, who, when mountaineering has passed away into the limbo of extinct sports, such as bear-baiting, croquet, and pell-mell, will, if he gets his deserts, even by those who remember Maguignaz, Carrel, Croz, and Almer, still be spoken of asthebest guide that ever lived. Nor was Burgener gifted with the same simple unaffected qualities which made Jakob Anderegg’s loss so keenly felt, nor the lightness and agility of Rey or Jaun; but he united well in himself qualities of strength, carefulness, perseverance and activity, and possessed in addition the numerous attributes of observation, experience, and desire for improvement in his art which together make up what is spoken of as the natural instinct of guides. These were the qualities that made him a first-rate, indeed an exceptional, guide.Nunc liberavi animam meam.There is an old saying, involving a sound doctrine, thatWhen you flatter lay it on thick;Some will come off, but a deal will stick.[pg 70]The porter proved himself a skilful and strong climber, but he was as silent as an oyster and, like that bivalve mollusc when the freshness of its youth has passed off, was perpetually on the gape.A landlord’s peculiaritiesA hot walk—it always is hot along this part—took us up to the Montanvert. The moonlight threw quaint, fantastic shadows along the path and made the dewy gossamer filaments which swung from branch to branch across the track twinkle into grey and silver; and anything more aggravating than these spiders’ threads at night it is hard to imagine. What earthly purpose these animals think they serve by this reckless nocturnal expenditure of bodily glue it is hard to say: possibly the lines are swung across in order that they may practise equilibrium; possibly the threads may serve as lines of escape and retreat after the male spinners have been a-wooing. The atmosphere through the wood was as stuffy as a ship’s saloon in a storm, and we were right glad to reach the Montanvert at 3.30A.M.Here, being athirst, we clamoured for refreshment. The landlord of the ramshackle hostelry at once appeared in full costume; indeed I observed that during the summer it was impossible to tell from his attire whether he had arisen immediately from bed or no. He seemed to act on the principle of the Norwegian peasant, who apparently undresses once a year when the winter commences, and resumes his garments when the light once more comes back[pg 71]and the summer season sets in. Our friend had cultivated to great perfection the art of half sleeping during his waking hours—that is, during such time as he might be called upon to provide entertainment for man and beast. Now at the Montanvert, during the tourists’ season, this period extended over the whole twenty-four hours. It was necessary, therefore, in order that he might enjoy a proper physiological period of rest, for him to remain in a dozing state—a sort of æstival hybernation—for the whole time, which in fact he did; or else he was by nature a very dull person, and had actually a very restricted stock of ideas.The landlord produced at once a battered teapot with a little sieve dangling from its snout, which had been stewing on the hob, and poured out the contained fluid into two stalked saucers of inconvenient diameter. Stimulated by this watery extract, we entered into conversation together. The sight of a tourist with an ice axe led by a kind of reflex process to the landlord’s unburdening his mind with his usual remarks. Like other natives of the valley he had but two ideas of“extraordinary”expeditions.“Monsieur is going to the Jardin?”he remarked.“No, monsieur isn’t.”“Then beyond a doubt monsieur will cross the Col du Géant?”he said, playing his trump card.“No, monsieur will not.”“Pardon—where does monsieur expect to go to?”“On the present occasion we go to try the Aiguille du Dru.”The landlord smiled in an[pg 72]aggravating manner.“Does monsieur think he will get up?”“Time will show.”“Ah!”The landlord, who had a chronic cold in the head, searched for his pockethandkerchief, but not finding it, modified the necessary sniff into one of derision, and then demanded the usual exorbitant price for the refreshment, amounting to about five times the value of the teapot, sieve and all. We paid, and left him chuckling softly to himself at our insane idea, as he replaced the teapot on the hob in readiness for the next arrival. That landlord, though physically sleepy, was still wide awake in matters of finance. He once charged me five francs for the loan of a secondhand collection of holes which he termed a blanket.We see a chamoisWe got on to the glacier at the usual point and made straight across the slippery hummocks to the grass slope encircling the base of the Aiguille du Dru and the Glacier de la Charpoua. The glacier above gives birth to a feeble meandering little stream which wanders fitfully down the mountain side. At first we kept to the left, but after a while crossed the little torrent, and bearing more to the right plodded leisurely up the steep grass and rock slope. We had made good progress when of a sudden Franz gave a loud whistle and then fell flat down. The other two guides immediately followed his example and beckoned to us with excited gesticulations to behave in a similarly foolish manner. Thereupon we too sat down,[pg 73]and enquired what the purport of this performance might be. It turned out that there was a very little chamois about half a mile off. Knowing that it would be impossible to induce the guides to move on till the animal had disappeared, we seized the opportunity of taking an early breakfast. The guides meanwhile wriggled about on their stomachs, with eyes starting out of their heads, possessed by an extraordinary desire to miss no single movement of the object of their attention.“See, it moves,”said Franz in a whisper.“Himmel! it is feeding,”said Burgener.“It must be the same that Johann saw three weeks ago.”“Ach! no, that was but a little one”(no true chamois hunter will ever allow that a brother sportsman can possibly have set eyes on a larger animal than himself).“Truly it is fine.”“Thunder weather! it moves its head.”In their excitement I regretted that I could not share, not being well versed in hunting craft: my own experience of sport in the Alps being limited to missing one marmot that was sitting on a rock licking its paws. In due course the chamois walked away. Apparently much relieved by there being no further necessity to continue in their former uncomfortable attitudes, the guides sat up and fell to a warm discussion as to the size of the animal. A chamois is to a guide as a fish to the baffled angler or the last new baby to a monthly nurse, and is always pronounced to be beyond question the finest[pg 74]that has ever been seen. To this they agreed generally, but Franz, whose spirits had suddenly evaporated, now shook his head dismally, with the remark that it was unlucky to see a single chamois, and that we should have no success that day. Undaunted by his croaking, we pursued our way to the right side of the glacier, while our guide, who had a ballad appropriate to every occasion, sang rather gaspingly a tremulous little funeral dirge. We worked well across to the right, in order to obtain the best possible view of the Aiguille, and halted repeatedly while discussing the best point at which to attack the rocks. While thus engaged in reconnoitring close under the cliffs of the ridge running between the Aiguille Moine and the Aiguille Verte, a considerable block of ice, falling from the rocks above, whizzed past just in front of us and capered gaily down the slope. Hereupon we came rather rapidly to the conclusion that we had better proceed. Half an hour further on we reached the top of a steep little snow slope, and a point secure from falling stones and ice. Recognising that we must soon cross back to the rocks of the Dru, we tried to come to a final conclusion as to the way to be chosen. As usual, everybody pointed out different routes: even a vestry meeting could hardly have been less unanimous. Some one now ventured to put a question that had been troubling in reality our minds for some time past, viz. which of the peaks that towered above[pg 75]us was really the Aiguille du Dru. On the left there were two distinct points which, though close together, were separated apparently by a deep rift, and some distance to the right of the col which the previous party had tried to reach, a sharp tooth of rock towered up to a considerable height. Evidently, however, from its position this latter needle could not be visible from Chamouni or from the Montanvert. Again, it was clear that the mass comprising the two points close together must be visible from the valley, but which of the two was the higher? Alexander gave as his opinion that the more distant of these two points, that on the right, was the higher, and turned to the porter for confirmation. That worthy nodded his head affirmatively with extreme sagacity, evidently implying that he was of the same opinion. Franz on the other hand thought the left-hand peak was the one that we ought to make for, arguing that it most resembled the Dru as seen from the Montanvert, that there was probably little difference in height between the two, that our ascent would not be believed in unless we were to place a flag on the point visible from Chamouni, and finally that the left-hand peak seemed to be the easier, and would probably be found to conceal the sharper point of the right-hand summit. Having expressed these views, he in turn looked towards the porter to ascertain his sentiments. The porter, who was evidently of a complaisant tempera[pg 76]ment, nodded his head very vigorously to intimate that these arguments seemed the more powerful of the two to his mind, and then cocked his head on one side in a knowing manner, intended to express that he was studying the angles and that he was prepared to find himself in the right whichever view prevailed. We did not find out for certain till some time after that the right-hand summit, though concealed from view by the Montanvert, is very distinctly visible from Chamouni: excusable ignorance, as most of the Chamouni people are unaware of it to this day. Professor Forbes, as Mr. Douglas Freshfield has kindly pointed out to me, with his usual accuracy distinguished and also measured the two summits, giving their heights respectively as 12,178, and 12,245 feet.3Knowing little as we did then of the details of the mountain, we followed Franz’s advice and made for the left-hand peak, under the impression that if one proved accessible the other might also, and there really seemed no reason why we should not, if occasion demanded, ascend both.Doubts as to the peakLeading up from the glacier two distinct lines of attack presented themselves. The right-hand ridge descends to the col very precipitously, but still we had some idea that the rocks did not look wholly impossible. Again, on the left of the Dru the rocks are cut away very abruptly and form the long precipitous[pg 77]ridge seen from the Montanvert. This ridge was so jagged that we could see no possible advantage in climbing to any part of it, except just at the termination where it merges into the south-western face of the main mountain. The choice therefore, in our judgment, lay between storming the mountain by the face right opposite to us or else making for the col and the right-hand ridge; but the latter was the route that Messrs. Pendlebury and Kennedy had followed, and we could not hope to succeed where such giants had failed. Burgener indeed wished to try, but the rest of the party were unanimously in favour of attempting to find a way up the face, a route that at the worst had the merit of novelty. We thought too that if a closer acquaintance proved that the crags were ill arranged for upward locomotion, we might be able to work round on the face and so reach the col by a more circuitous route. With the naked eye—especially a myopic one—the rocks appeared unpromising enough; while viewed through the telescope the rocks looked utterly impossible. But little faith, however, can be rested in telescopic observations of a mountain, so far as the question of determining a route is concerned. Amateurs, who, as a rule, understand the use of a telescope much better than guides, have not the requisite experience to determine the value of what they see, while but few guides see enough to form any basis for determination. Moreover, the instrument we carried[pg 78]with us, though it had an extraordinary number of sections and pulled out like the ill-fated tradesman’s trousers in a pantomime, was not a very remarkable one in the matter of definition. Still it is always proper and orthodox to look at a new peak through the telescope, and we were determined not to neglect any formality on the present occasion.Telescopic observationsWe were now rather more than half-way up the Glacier de la Charpoua. To reach the most promising-looking point at which we might hope to get on the rocks, it was necessary to travel straight across the snow at about the level on which we stood. Now, this Glacier de la Charpoua is not constructed on ordinary principles. Instead of the orthodox transverse bergschrund it possesses a longitudinal crack running up its whole length, a peculiarity that vexed us hugely. Half a dozen times did we attempt to cross by some tempting-looking bridge, but on each occasion we were brought to a stand by impassable crevasses; then had to turn back, go up a little farther, and try again. It was already late in the day and we could ill spare the time lost in this to and fro movement. Eventually we reached a little patch of rocks not far from the head of the glacier. No sooner had we reached these rocks than the guides hunted up a suitable place and concealed some utterly worthless property as carefully as if they expected evil-minded marauders to be wandering about, seeking what they might pilfer.[pg 79]Having effected the cache with due care, Franz once again burst into a strange carol, the burden of which was unintelligible, but the chorus made frequent allusion to“der Teufel.”We now saw that, after all, the only feasible plan would be to cut our way still higher up a steep slope, and thus to work right round, describing a large curve. An occasional step required to be scraped, for the glacier is in shadow till late in the morning, owing to the Aiguille Verte intervening and cutting off the sun’s rays. Throughout the day our second guide had been burning with a desire to exhibit the good qualities of the most portentous ice axe I ever saw, an instrument of an unwieldy character resembling a labourer’s pick on the top of a May pole. Its dimensions were monstrous and its weight preposterous: moreover, the cutting spike had an evil curve and, instead of hewing out blocks of ice neatly, preferred to ram a huge hole in the slope and stick fast therein, while a quiver ran through its mighty frame and communicated itself to the striker, who shuddered at each blow as after taking a dose of very bitter physic. However, Franz was so proud of his halberd that we were obliged to sacrifice rapid progress to the consideration of his feelings, and he was accordingly sent on to cut the steps which were now found necessary. With no little exertion did he construct a staircase of which the steps were about the size of foot baths, and with no slight impatience did[pg 80]we watch his gymnastics and athletic flourishes, which were a sort of mixture of tossing the caber and throwing the hammer combined with a touch of polo. Ultimately we were able to quit the glacier for the actual face of the mountain, at a point probably not very much below that struck by the previous party; but it was our intention at once to bear off to the left.Franz and his mighty axeWe blundered a little on the rocks at first after the long spell of snow-walking. A cry from Franz caused us to look round, and we perceived that he had got entangled with the big axe, the spike of which was sticking into the third button of his waistcoat, causing him, as the strain on the rope above and below folded him up in a rather painful manner, to assume the attitude of a mechanical toy monkey on a stick. Fearing that he might be placed in the condition in which cats’ meat is usually offered for sale, we slackened the rope and saved him from impending perforation, but with the result that the axe bounded off down the slope, turned two or three summersaults, and then stuck up defiantly in a distant patch of snow, looking like a sign-post. While Franz went off to recover his loved treasure we huddled together on a very little ledge of rock, and sat there in a row like busts on a shelf—if the simile be not considered anatomically inappropriate. But these delays had wasted much time, and already success seemed doubtful. Little time could now be devoted to consultation, and[pg 81]little good would have come of it; now that we were on the rocks the only thing to do was to go straight on and see what would happen. At the same time we had a dim consciousness that we were considerably to the right of the best line of ascent. Our“general idea”—to borrow a military phrase of which, by the way, it may be remarked that the idea in question is usually confined to the general and is not shared in by the troops—consisted in making for the left-hand side or Montanvert aspect of the final peak. We set our teeth, whatever that may mean, then fell to with a will and for some two hours went with scarcely a check. And a rare two hours’ climb we had. The very thought of it makes the pen travel swiftly over the paper, as the scene comes back in every detail. How Burgener led the way without hesitation and almost without mistake; how our second guide chattered unceasingly, caring nought for a listener; how they both stuck to the rocks like limpets; how the big axe got in everybody’s way; how the rope got caught on every projecting spur of rock, jerking back the unwary, or when loose sweeping down showers of small angular stones from the little platforms and ridges, thereby engendering ill blood and contumely; how the silent porter climbed stolidly after us, and in the plenitude of his taciturn good-humour poked at us from below with his staff at inconvenient moments and in sensitive places; how at one moment we were[pg 82]flat against the rock, all arms and legs, like crushed spiders, and at another gathered into great loops like a cheese maggot on the point of making a leap; how a volley of little stones came whistling cheerily down from above, playfully peppering us all round; how our spirits rose with our bodies till we became as excited as children: of all these things it boots not to give any detailed description. Those who can recollect similar occasions need but to be reminded of them, and, to tell the truth, the minutiæ, though they are so graven upon the mind that a clear impression could be struck off years afterwards, are apt to prove somewhat tedious. Two facts I may note. One, that the rocks were at first very much easier than was expected; another, that we should have done better had we discarded the rope on this part of the climb: the rocks were hardly a fit place for those who could not dispense with its use. Ever and anon the guides’ spirits would rise to that level which may be called the shouting point, and they would jödel till they were black in the face, while the melodious roll of sound echoed cheerily back from the distant cliffs of the Aiguille Moine. And so we journeyed up.A start in the wrong directionMeanwhile the weather had changed; black clouds had come rolling up and were gathering ominously above us; it was evident that we had no chance of reaching the summit that day, even if it were practicable, but still we persevered desperately[pg 83]in the hope of seeing some possible route for a future attack. Progress, however, on a rock peak is necessarily slow when there are five on the rope, and we should probably have done more wisely if we had divided into two parties. We kept well to the left to a point on the face where a huge tower of rock stands four-square to all the winds of heaven that blow; and above us, as a matter of fact, there seemed to be a good many winds. This landmark, very conspicuous and characteristic of these aiguilles, seemed to be close to the ridge, but on reaching it we found that there was still a stiff passage intervening between us and the point from which we could overlook the other side of the mountain. Now we bore to the right and the climbing became more difficult. We made our way straight up a very shallow gully and finally reached a point on the western ridge overlooking the Montanvert, close to where this ridge merges into the corresponding face of the peak. Here a halt was called, for two reasons. In the first place a few flakes of snow were softly falling around and the gathering clouds betokened more to follow. Secondly, so far as we could judge through the mist, it was apparently impossible to ascend any higher from the place we had reached. So we cast off the rope and clambered separately to various points of vantage to survey the work that lay before us. The summit of the peak, enveloped in thin cloud, appeared to tower no great height above[pg 84]us, but we were too close under the cliff to estimate its elevation very correctly. At the time we thought that if we could only keep up the pace at which we had been going, an hour’s climb would have sufficed to reach the top. We found, it may be remarked parenthetically, that we were egregiously in error in this estimate some years later. The shifting clouds made the rock face—that is, the small extent of it that we could see at all—look much more difficult than in all probability it actually was. Through the mists we made out, indistinctly, a formidable-looking irregular crack in the rock face running very straight up and rather to our left, which apparently constituted the only possible route from our position to a higher level. But from where we stood we could not have reached the lower end of this crack without a ladder of about fifty feet in length, and the mist entirely prevented us from judging whether we could reach it by a détour. The choice lay between hunting for some such line or else in trying what seemed on the whole more practicable, viz. working round by the north-east face again, so as to search for a more easy line of ascent. But the latter alternative would have involved of necessity a considerable descent. While we debated what course to take the mists swept up thicker and thicker from below, and in a moment the peak above us was concealed and all the view cut off. A piercingly cold wind began to rise and a sharp storm[pg 85]of hail and sleet descended. Hints were dropped about the difficulty of descending rocks glazed over with ice with a proper amount of deliberation. It was obviously impossible to go up and might soon become very difficult to go down. The question was not actually put, but, in conformity with what was evidently the general sense of the meeting, we somewhat reluctantly made up our minds to return. A dwarf stone man was constructed, the rope readjusted, and half an hour’s descent put us out of the mist and snow. We stopped again and stared upwards blankly at the leve line of mist hanging heavily against the peak. Burgener now came forward with a definite resolution and proposed that we should stay where we were for the night and try again the next day. This was referred to a sub-committee, who reported against the suggestion on the ground that the stock of provisions left consisted of a tablespoonful of wine, four rolls, and a small piece of cheese which had strayed from the enveloping paper in the porter’s pocket and as a consequence smelt of tobacco and was covered with hairs and fluff. These articles of diet were spread on a rock and we mentally calculated the exact proportion that would fall to each man’s share if we attempted, as proposed, to subsist on them for a day and a half. But little deliberation was required. We decided at once to return. The porter gathered the fragments lovingly together and replaced them with other curious[pg 86]articles in his side pocket. By 8.30P.M.we were back at Chamouni, having been out a little under twenty hours.An adjournmentA day or two later we made up our minds to start once more. Great preparations were made for an early departure, the idea that we should find it distasteful to start at the hour at which a London ball begins being scouted, as it usually is over-night. We impressed on an intelligent“boots”with great earnestness the absolute necessity of waking us precisely at midnight, and then went to our repose, feeling about as much inclined for sleep as a child does during the afternoon siesta intended to prepare it for the glories of a pantomime. The“boots”did not fail; in fact he was extra-punctual, as our departure was the signal for his retiring. At midnight the party assembled in the little courtyard in front of the hotel, but a dismal sight met our gaze. Under the influence of a warm sou’-wester, thick black clouds had filled the valley, and a gentle drizzle reminded us of the balmy climate of our own metropolis in November. Our Alpine tour for the season was nearly at an end, and we gazed despondently around. Ultimately one practical person suggested that if we did not go to the mountain we might as well go to bed, and the practical person endorsed his suggestion by walking off. A scurvy practical joke did the clerk of the weather play on us that night. In the morning the bright sunbeams[pg 87]came streaming in through the window, the sky was cloudless and the outline of every peak was sharply defined in the clear air. A more perfect morning for the expedition could hardly have been chosen. Some ill-timed remarks at breakfast referring pointedly to people who talk a good deal over-night about early starts, and the deep concern of the“boots”at our presumed slothfulness, goaded us to desperation. We determined to start again and to have one more try the next day whatever the weather might prove to be. Once more we found ourselves in the small hours of the morning on the path leading to Les Ponts. Had it not been for the previous day’s lesson we should probably have turned back from this point, for the whole of the mountain opposite was concealed in thick drifting mist. The guides flatly refused to go on as matters stood. We were determined on our side not to give it up, and so a compromise was effected. It was agreed to wait for an hour or two and see if matters mended. So we stretched ourselves out on a damp sloping rock, prepared to resume our journey at the slightest indication of a change for the better. Rest at such a time even under these hard, not to say stony, conditions is seductive, and, as we lay half dozing, strange heretical thoughts came crowding into the mind. Why toil up this mountain when one can rest in luxury on these knobby rocks? Why labour over the shifting moraine, the deceitful glacier, the slippery[pg 88]rock? What is the good of it all? Can it be vanity or——“Vorwärts!”The dream vanished as the cheery cry broke out from the guide engaged on outpost duty, and as we rose and stretched ourselves the whole aspect of affairs seemed changed. A distinct break in the clouds at the head of the Mer de Glace gave promise of better things in store, and we felt almost guilty of having wasted an hour or more at our halt. The break became larger and larger, and before long the great cloud banks resolved into one huge streamer flying from the summit of the peak. I fancy that, at any rate in the early stages of mountaineering, many good chances are thrown away on such days, for guides are as a rule somewhat prone to despondency in the early morning hours. Once started, however, they became wondrously keen, complained of our delay, and even asserted with some effrontery that they had predicted fine weather all the time, and this without a blush; still some one rather neatly defined blushing as a suffusion least seldom seen in those who have the most occasion for it, and guides share with politicians a certain power of manipulating their opinions to suit the exigencies of the moment. The traces of our former attempt assisted us materially on the glacier. Our plan of attack consisted in getting on the rocks at our former point, but working on this occasion much more directly up the face. Burgener conceived that by following this line of assault we[pg 89]should be able to ascend, by means of a gully which existed only in his own imagination, to a more practicable part of the peak. Between the two summits of the Aiguille du Dru may be seen, at any rate in photographs, a tempting-looking streak of snow: it seemed possible, if we could once reach the lower point of this streak, to follow its line upwards. The lower peak of the Dru is well rounded on its eastern face, and the rocks appear more broken than in other parts of the mountain.The expedition resumedIf we could but once reach the cleft between the peaks there seemed every chance of our being able to reach the lower summit. At the outset progress was fast. We followed our former line till we were in sight of the rock tower and then at once bore off to the right. The climbing was rather more difficult, at least it seemed so to us in those days, than on the other part of the mountain with which we had previously made acquaintance. A series of short flat gullies had to be climbed, but there were exceedingly few inequalities to help us. The rope was of little or no use and might perhaps have been laid aside with advantage. We soon found that we had reached a higher point than at our previous attempt, and as the leader constantly returned favourable reports our spirits rose; so elated in fact did we become that the exact formalities to be observed on reaching the top were seriously discussed whenever the occasion offered for conversation, which[pg 90]was not very often. Old Franz chattered away to himself, as was his wont when matters went well, and on looking back on one occasion I perceived the strange phenomenon of a smile illuminating the porter’s features. Howbeit, this worthy spake no words of satisfaction, but pulled ever at his empty pipe. By dint of wriggling over a smooth sloping stone slab we had got into a steep rock gully which promised to lead us to a good height. Burgener, assisted by much pushing and prodding from below and aided on his own part by much snorting and some strong language, had managed to climb on to a great overhanging boulder that cut off the view from the rest of the party below. As he disappeared from sight we watched the paying out of the rope with as much anxiety as a fisherman eyes his vanishing line when the salmon runs. Presently the rope ceased to move and we waited for a few moments in suspense. We felt that the critical moment of the expedition had arrived, and the fact that our own view was exceedingly limited made us all the more anxious to hear the verdict.“How does it look?”we called out. The answer came back in patois, a bad sign in such emergencies. For a minute or two an animated conversation was kept up; then we decided to take another opinion and accordingly hoisted up our second guide. The chatter was redoubled.“What does it look like?”we shouted again.“Not possible from where we are,”[pg 91]was the melancholy answer, and in a tone that crashed at once all our previous elation. I could not find words at the moment to express my disappointment: but the porter could and gallantly he came to the rescue. He opened his mouth for the first time and spoke, and he said very loud indeed that it was“verdammt.”Precisely: that is just what it was. Having made this short speech, the porter allowed the smile to fade away from his features, shook out some imaginary ashes and proceeded to light some visionary tobacco, sucking at a lighted match through the medium of an empty pipe. It seemed hard to believe at first that we were to be baulked when so near the summit, and it was not till the guides had tried again and again to storm the almost vertical wall of smooth rock and had shown the utter impossibility of turning it either right or left, that we felt we were really beaten. One more forlorn chance remained: we might try the west face of the mountain from the spot we had reached at our first attempt, when the weather had prevented us from making any further progress. Had there been more time at our disposal we should have done better to try another line of ascent more to our right, that is, nearer to the col, and it might be possible to reach the cleft between the two summits by this means. As for the snow streak which looked so tempting at a distance, it is a delusion and a snare, if the latter term be applicable to a place[pg 92]which appears to be much more difficult to get into than it probably would be to get out of. We had already pretty fully realised that the mountain was more difficult to ascend than we had ever contemplated, and it seemed advisable at the moment to make for some definite point which at any rate we felt sure of reaching and to study the peak in detail to the best of our ability; so we made towards our cairn, though with little hope of gaining much knowledge thereby.A sticking pointWithout much difficulty, but not without some little danger from falling stones (though on the whole, the mountain is remarkably free from these annoyances, there being as a matter of fact but few loose stones to fall), we reached our former point and were able to judge distinctly of how much higher we had reached at our second attempt. We saw also that upward progress from the point on which we stood would not be possible, but it must be remembered that we were able only to see a small strip of the mountain lying directly above. Every crag that was not absolutely vertical appeared to overhang, and the few small cracks that might have afforded hand and foot hold led nowhere in particular. Altogether the view was depressing although limited. There was no time to hunt about for other routes, or we should certainly have done so, for we felt that though beaten our discomfiture only arose from the fact that we had chosen a wrong line of ascent. Possibly within a few yards of us lay a[pg 93]feasible route, but we knew not on which side it might be. Here it occurred to the porter for the first time that his pipe was empty and had been so all day: he thereupon made his second remark, which consisted in an audible request for something to put in it. We had dragged up with us (as a matter of fact the porter had carried it the whole time) some 200 feet of rope, thinking it might help us in the descent, but the part of the mountain on which we were presents no more difficulties in this respect than does Avernus.Beaten backArrived on the snow slope opposite the rock face on which we had been climbing during the day, we stopped, extended the telescope, and tried to make out our exact line, and endeavoured also to discover what had been our error; no easy task, as any persons of experience will admit. At any time the appearance of this peak is deceptive, and the outline no more guides you to a knowledge of the natural details than does the outline of a fashionable lady’s dress. But as we looked the mountain seemed flattened out by reason of a blue evening mist which obscured all the irregularities. So we turned and resumed our journey down, running hard across the Mer de Glace, for the shades of night drew on apace, and reached Chamouni at 8.30 in the evening, leaving the guides at the Montanvert with half a bottle of thin red wine between three of them. We were overtaken by Edouard Cupelin, one of the best of the Chamouni guides, at[pg 94]any rate on rock mountains, on our way down, and he gave us a rather sensational account of his own adventures on the peak. In justice to him it should be mentioned that he was almost the only Chamouni guide who seemed to think the ascent possible, and in his opinion the general line that we had adopted was the correct one. Our second expedition thus from first to last occupied about 20½ hours, but the halts were not nearly so numerous as on the first occasion. The experience of our two days’ climbing led us to the conclusion that Cupelin was right. From the peculiar character of the rocks and the fact that our climbing lay chiefly along short flat gullies we were unable, as already remarked, to get a very clear idea of any part of the mountain except that on which we were actually engaged, and we were led to the opinion that the only plan to find a possible route would consist in trying in succession from below the different parts of the southern face. The final peak, which from this side shoots up clearly defined from the great mass of the mountain, seemed to us tolerably easy of ascent provided one could reach the base. A sort of depression extends three parts of the way round, and the edge of this shallow moat appeared to be defended by an inaccessible belt of vertical rock. The actual rocks were wholly unlike any met with elsewhere in our experience. Great vertical slabs were fitted together with an accuracy which was beautiful[pg 95]in its perfection, but irritating beyond conception to the climber. Progress upwards, when above the level of the col, necessitated a series of fatiguing gymnastics like swimming uphill, but the rocks where they were possible proved invariably firm and good. On both occasions we were stopped by sheer difficulty and probably saw the mountain at its very best. The snow on the rocks, which proved such a formidable difficulty to Mr. Pendlebury’s party, had almost entirely disappeared before our assault. The rocks were warm and the weather on the second day was perfect.Results gainedSuch is the history of our first two attempts to climb this mountain. They served but to whet our appetite for success, but it was not till years after that we were fortunate enough to meet with that success.

The Alps and the early mountaineers—The last peaks to surrender—The Aiguille du Dru—Messrs. Kennedy and Pendlebury’s attempt on the peak—One-day expeditions in the Alps and thoughts on huts and sleeping out—The Chamouni guide system—A word on guides, past and present—The somnolent landlord and his peculiarities—Some of the party see a chamois—Doubts as to the peak and the way—The duplicity of the Aiguille deceives us—Telescopic observations—An ill-arranged glacier—Franz and his mighty axe—A start on the rocks in the wrong direction—Progress reported—An adjournment—The rocks of the lower peak of the Aiguille du Dru—Our first failure—The expedition resumed—A new line of ascent—We reach the sticking point—Beaten back—The results gained by the two days’ climbing.

The Alps and the early mountaineers—The last peaks to surrender—The Aiguille du Dru—Messrs. Kennedy and Pendlebury’s attempt on the peak—One-day expeditions in the Alps and thoughts on huts and sleeping out—The Chamouni guide system—A word on guides, past and present—The somnolent landlord and his peculiarities—Some of the party see a chamois—Doubts as to the peak and the way—The duplicity of the Aiguille deceives us—Telescopic observations—An ill-arranged glacier—Franz and his mighty axe—A start on the rocks in the wrong direction—Progress reported—An adjournment—The rocks of the lower peak of the Aiguille du Dru—Our first failure—The expedition resumed—A new line of ascent—We reach the sticking point—Beaten back—The results gained by the two days’ climbing.

The last peaks to surrender

The last peaks to surrender

Accounts of failures on the mountains in books of Alpine adventure are as much out of place, according to some critics, as a new hat in a crowded church. Humanly speaking, the possession of this head-gear under such circumstances renders it impossible to divert the thoughts wholly from worldly affairs. This, however, by the way. Now the pioneers of the Alps, the Stephenses, the Willses, the Moores, the Morsheads, and many others, had used up all new material with alarming rapidity, I might say voracity,[pg 57]before the climbing epoch to which the present sketches relate. There is an old story of a man who arrived running in a breathless condition on a railway platform just in time to see the train disappearing.“You didn’t run fast enough, sir,”remarked the porter to him.“You idiot!”was the answer,“I ran plenty fast enough, but I didn’t begin running soon enough.”Even so was it with the climbers of our generation. They climbed with all possible diligence, but they began their climbing too late. Novelty, that is the desire for achieving new expeditions, was still considered of paramount importance, but unfortunately there was very little new material left. It is difficult to realise adequately now the real veneration entertained for an untrodden peak. A certain amount of familiarity seemed indispensable before a new ascent was even seriously contemplated. It had occurred to certain bold minds that the aiguilles around Chamouni might not be quite as bad as they looked. In 1873 the chief of the still unconquered peaks of the Mont Blanc district were the Aiguille des Charmoz, the Aiguille Blaitière, the Aiguille du Géant, the Aiguille Peuteret, the Aiguille du Dru, and a few other minor points. All of these have since been captured, some of them bound in chains. Opinions differed considerably as to their accessibility. Some hopeful spirits thought that by constantly“pegging away”they might be scaled; others thought that the only feasible[pg 58]plan would be indeed to peg away, but were of opinion that the pegs should be of iron and driven into the rock. Such views naturally lead to discussions, sometimes rather heated, as to whether mountaineering morality might fitly tolerate such aids to the climber. Of all the peaks mentioned above, the Aiguille du Dru and the Aiguille du Géant were considered as the most hopeful by the leading guides, though the older members of that body held out little prospect of success. It is a rather curious fact that the majority of the leading guides who gave their opinions to us in the matter thought that the Aiguille du Géant was the more promising peak to attack. Subsequent experience has proved that they were greatly in error in this judgment. The Aiguille du Géant has indeed been ascended, but much more aid than is comprised in the ordinary mountaineer’s equipment was found necessary. In fact, the stronghold was not carried by direct assault, but by sapping and mining. There is a certain rock needle in Norway which, I am told, was once, and once only, ascended by a party on surveying operations bent. No other means could be found, so a wooden structure was built up around the peak, such as may be seen investing a dilapidated church steeple; and the mountain, like the Royal Martyr of history, yielded up its crowning point at the scaffold. We did not like the prospect of employing any such architectural means to gain our end and[pg 59]the summit, and, from no very clearly defined reasons, turned our attention chiefly to the Aiguille du Dru. Perhaps the prominent appearance of this Aiguille, and the fact that its outline was so familiar from the Montanvert, gradually imbued us with a certain sense of familiarity, which ultimately developed into a notion that if not actually accessible it might at least be worth trying. It seemed too prominent to be impossible; from its height—12,517 feet only—the mountain would doubtless not attract much attention, were it not so advantageously placed. Thousands of tourists had gazed on its symmetrical form: it had been photographed, stared at through binoculars, portrayed in little distorted pictures on useless work-boxes, trays and other toy-shop gimcracks, more often than any other mountain of the chain, Mont Blanc excepted. Like an undersized volunteer officer, it no doubt made the most of its height. But in truth the Aiguille du Dru is a magnificent mountain form, with its vast dark precipices on the north face, with its long lines of cliff, broken and jagged and sparsely wrinkled with gullies free from even a patch or trace of snow. Point after point, and pinnacle after pinnacle catch the gaze as we follow the edge of the north-west“Kamm,”until the eye rests at last on the singularly graceful isosceles triangle of rock which forms the peak. It is spoken of lightly as merely a tooth of rock jutting up from the ridge which[pg 60]culminates in the Aiguille Verte, but when viewed from the Glacier de la Charpoua it is obviously a separate mountain; at any rate it became such when the highest point of the ridge, the Aiguille Verte, had been climbed by somebody else. The cleft in the ridge on the right side of the main mass of the Aiguille du Dru is a very deep one as seen from the glacier, and the sharp needle of rock which is next in the chain is a long way from the Aiguille du Dru itself. North and south the precipices run sheer down to the glaciers beneath. The mountain has then four distinct sides, three of them running down to great depths. Thus, even in the prehistoric days of Alpine climbing, it had some claim to individuality and might fairly be considered as something more than, as it were, one unimportant pinnacle on the roof of some huge cathedral. Perhaps, however, repeated failures to ascend the mountain begot undue veneration and caused an aspiring climber to look with a prejudiced eye on its dimensions.

The Aiguille du Dru

The Aiguille du Dru

So far as I know, the mountain had never been assailed till 1873, when Messrs. Pendlebury and Kennedy made an attempt. Mr. R. Pendlebury has kindly furnished me with notes of the climb, which I may be allowed to reproduce nearly in his own words:—Two parties started simultaneously for the expedition. One was composed of Messrs. Kennedy and Marshall, with the guides Johann Fischer and Ulric Almer of Grindelwald; the other party consisted of the Rev.[pg 61]C. Taylor, Messrs. W. M. and R. Pendlebury, with the guides Hans Baumann, Peter Baumann, and Edouard Cupelin. The first-mentioned party slept at the Montanvert, while the others enjoyed themselves in a bivouac high up on the side of the Glacier de la Charpoua between the Aiguille du Dru and the Aiguille Moine. This Glacier de la Charpoua, it may be mentioned, is sometimes called the Glacier du Chapeau.

The first attempt

The first attempt

The bivouac appears to have been so comfortable that Mr. Pendlebury and his friends did not take advantage of their start. The Montanvert detachment, who found no such inducement to stay one moment longer than was absolutely necessary2in their costly quarters, caught them up the next morning, and the whole party started together. Mr. Kennedy’s guides kept to the left of the Glacier de la Charpoua, which looks more broken up than the right-hand side, but apparently proved better going. This, however, it should be observed, was in 1873, and these hanging glaciers alter marvellously in detail from year to year, though always preserving from a distance the same general features. On the same principle, at the proper distance, a mother may be mistaken for her daughter, especially by a judicious person. But on drawing near, however discreet the observer may be, he is yet conscious of little furrows, diminutive[pg 62]wrinkles, and perhaps of a general shrinkage not to be found in the more recent specimen. Speaking very generally, I should say that these glaciers are, on the whole, easier to traverse than they used to be: at any rate my own personal observation of this particular little glacier extends over a period of some years, and the intricacies—it is hardly proper to call them difficulties—were distinctly less towards the end of the time than they were at the beginning. Of course a different interpretation might be put upon such an opinion: with the evolution of mountaineering skill the complexity of these crumpled up snow-fields may seem to have disentangled, but I am assured that in this particular case it was not so.

First attempt on the peak

First attempt on the peak

This digression must be pardoned. It arose naturally from the circumstance that the route Mr. Kennedy adopted would have proved, at any rate in later years, a digression from the best way. Mr. Pendlebury’s party went straight up, keeping, that is, to the right-hand side of the glacier. Towards the upper part the snow slopes became steeper, and soon some step-cutting was required. The object in view was to reach the lowest point in the ridge between the Aiguille du Dru and the Aiguille Verte. It was thought that, by turning to the left from the col, it might be possible to reach the summit by the eastern arête. The col itself from below seemed easily attainable by means of a narrow zigzagging[pg 63]gully, interrupted here and there, that runs down from the summit of the ridge. Ascending by the rocks on the left of the gully the party made for some little way good progress, but then a sudden change came over the scene. After a consultation, it was proposed that the guides Hans Baumann, Peter Baumann, and Fischer should go on a little by themselves and make for the ridge, which they estimated lay about half an hour above them. They were then to examine the rocks above and to bring back a report. The rest of the party remained where they were, and disported themselves as comfortably as circumstances would permit. Hour after hour, however, passed away, and the three guides seemed to make but little progress. They returned at last with the melancholy tidings that they had climbed nearly up to the ridge and had found the rocks very difficult and dangerous. (It should be noted that the line of attack chosen on this occasion—the first serious attempt on the peak—was devised by Hans Baumann, and it says much for his sagacity that this very route proved years afterwards to be the right one.) Questioned as to the advisability of proceeding upwards, the guides employed their favourite figure of speech and remarked that not for millions of francs would they consent to try again. Hans Baumann asserted that he had never climbed more difficult rocks. This opinion, as Mr. Pendlebury suggested at the time, was probably[pg 64]owing to the fact that the cliffs above were covered with snow and glazed with ice, and this condition of the mountain face made each step precarious. The amateurs of the party were of opinion that the ridge would prove attainable later in the season or in exceptionally fine weather. As to the possibility of climbing the rocks above—that is to say, the actual peak—none of the party were able to come to any very positive conclusion. At a rough guess it was estimated that the party halted between two and three hundred feet below the ridge. On the presentation of the guides report the whole caravan turned back and reached Chamouni safely, but not entirely without incident, for the monotony of the descent and Mr. Taylor’s head were broken by the fall of a big stone. This little accident, Mr. Pendlebury remarked with disinterested cheerfulness, was but a trifle. I have not been able to ascertain Mr. Taylor’s views on the subject.

When our party first essayed the ascent we knew none of the above particulars, save only that some mountaineers had endeavoured to reach the ridge but had failed to ascend to any great height. Of the actual cause of their ill success, and whether it were owing to the unpropitious elements or to the actual difficulties encountered, we were unaware.

Huts and sleeping out

Huts and sleeping out

At the time of which I am writing, a somewhat novel mode of ascending mountains was coming into vogue, which consisted in waiting for a suitable day at[pg 65]headquarters, starting at unheard-of hours, and completing the expedition in one day—that is, within twenty-four hours. It was argued in support of this plan, that it was economical and that bivouacking was but a laborious and expensive method of obtaining discomfort. There are, said the advocates of the method, but few mountains in the Alps which cannot be ascended with much greater comfort in one day than in two. The day’s climb is much more enjoyable when it is possible to start from sleeping quarters in which it is possible to sleep. The argument that repose in hotel beds, though undoubtedly more luxurious, was of comparatively little use if there were no time to enjoy it, was held to be little to the purpose. Some enthusiasts were wont to state that passing a night in a chalet, or those magnified sentry boxes called cabanes, constituted half the enjoyment on the expedition. This is a little strong—like the flavour of the cabanes—and if it were actually so the whole pleasure would be but small. The camper out arises in the morning from his delicious couch of soft new-mown hay in a spotty and sticky condition, attended with considerable local irritation, and feeling like a person who has recently had his hair cut, with a pinafore but loosely tied around his neck. Porters, like barbers, exhibit a propensity for indulging in garlic immediately before pursuing their avocation, which is not without discomfort to their employers. (And here I may note as a[pg 66]psychological fact that one action of this permeating vegetable is to induce confidential propensities in the consumer. The point may be deemed worthy of investigation, by personal experiment, by botanists and students of materia medica, men who in the interests of science are not prone to consider their personal comfort and finer sensibilities.) Again, in unsettled weather a fine day is often wasted by journeying up in the afternoon to some chalet, or hovel, merely to enjoy the pleasure of returning the following morning in the rain. There is some force too in the argument that but little actual time is gained by the first day’s performance, for it is very difficult to start at anything like the prearranged hour for departure from a camp. An immensity of time is always spent in lighting the morning fire, preparing breakfast, and getting under way. On the other side, some little time is undoubtedly saved by discarding the wholly superfluous ceremony of washing, a process at once suggesting itself to the mind of the Briton abroad if he beholds a basin and cold water.

The sum of the argument would seem to be that camping out in some one else’s hut is but an unpleasant fiction; that if the climber chooses to go to the expense, he can succeed in making himself a trifle less comfortable in his own tent or under a rock than he would be in an hotel; and that he is the wisest man who refrains from bivouacking when it is not really neces[pg 67]sary and is able to make the best of matters when it is: and undoubtedly for many of the recognised expeditions it is essential to have every possible minute of spare time in hand.

The Chamouni guide system

The Chamouni guide system

We were naturally rather doubtful as to the successful issue of our expedition, at any rate at the first attempt, and we therefore impressed upon the guides the necessity of not divulging the plan. The secret, however, proved to be so big that it was too much for two, and they imparted consequently so much of the information as they had not adequate storage for in their own minds to any who chose to listen. Consequently our intentions were thoroughly well known before we started. There were in those days, perhaps, more good guides, at any rate there were fewer bad ones, in Chamouni than are to be found nowadays. We could not, however, obtain the services—even if we had desired them—of any of the local celebrities. As a matter of fact, we were both of opinion that a training in climbing, such as is acquired among the Oberland and Valais men by chamois hunting and constant rock work, would be most likely to have produced the qualities which would undoubtedly be needed on the aiguilles.

The question of the efficiency of the Chamouni guides and of the Chamouni guide system, a question coeval with mountaineering itself, was burning then as fiercely as it does now. The Alpine Club had[pg 68]striven in vain to improve matters; they had pointed out that ability to answer a kind of mountaineering catechism did not in itself constitute a very reliable test of a peasant’s power; they had pointed out too that the plan of electing a“guide chef”from the general body of guides was one most open to abuse, one sure to lead to favouritism and injustice, and one obviously ill calculated to bring to the front any specially efficient man. But unhappily the regulations of the body of guides were, and still are, entangled hopelessly in the French equivalent for red tape. Jealousy and mistrust of the German-speaking guides, whom serious mountaineers were beginning to import in rather formidable numbers, were beginning to awaken in the simple bosoms of the Savoyard peasants; and our proceedings were consequently looked upon with contemptuous disfavour by those who had any knowledge of our project.

A word on guides

A word on guides

On August 18, 1873, we started. Our guides were Alexander Burgener as leader, Franz Andermatten, the best of companions, our guide, our friend, and sometimes our philosopher, as second string, while a taciturn porter of large frame and small mind, who came from the Saas valley, completed the tale. Of Burgener’s exceptional talent in climbing difficult rocks we had had already good proof, and no doubt he was, and still is, a man of remarkable daring, endurance, and activity on rocks. I had reached[pg 69]then that stage in the mountaineering art at which a man is prone to consider the guide he knows best as, beyond all comparison, the best guide that could possibly exist. The lapse of years renders me perhaps better able now to form a dispassionate judgment of Burgener’s capacity and skill. Both were very great. I have seen at their work most of the leaders in this department. Burgener never had the marvellous neatness and finish so characteristic of Melchior Anderegg, who, when mountaineering has passed away into the limbo of extinct sports, such as bear-baiting, croquet, and pell-mell, will, if he gets his deserts, even by those who remember Maguignaz, Carrel, Croz, and Almer, still be spoken of asthebest guide that ever lived. Nor was Burgener gifted with the same simple unaffected qualities which made Jakob Anderegg’s loss so keenly felt, nor the lightness and agility of Rey or Jaun; but he united well in himself qualities of strength, carefulness, perseverance and activity, and possessed in addition the numerous attributes of observation, experience, and desire for improvement in his art which together make up what is spoken of as the natural instinct of guides. These were the qualities that made him a first-rate, indeed an exceptional, guide.Nunc liberavi animam meam.There is an old saying, involving a sound doctrine, that

When you flatter lay it on thick;Some will come off, but a deal will stick.

When you flatter lay it on thick;

Some will come off, but a deal will stick.

[pg 70]The porter proved himself a skilful and strong climber, but he was as silent as an oyster and, like that bivalve mollusc when the freshness of its youth has passed off, was perpetually on the gape.

A landlord’s peculiarities

A landlord’s peculiarities

A hot walk—it always is hot along this part—took us up to the Montanvert. The moonlight threw quaint, fantastic shadows along the path and made the dewy gossamer filaments which swung from branch to branch across the track twinkle into grey and silver; and anything more aggravating than these spiders’ threads at night it is hard to imagine. What earthly purpose these animals think they serve by this reckless nocturnal expenditure of bodily glue it is hard to say: possibly the lines are swung across in order that they may practise equilibrium; possibly the threads may serve as lines of escape and retreat after the male spinners have been a-wooing. The atmosphere through the wood was as stuffy as a ship’s saloon in a storm, and we were right glad to reach the Montanvert at 3.30A.M.Here, being athirst, we clamoured for refreshment. The landlord of the ramshackle hostelry at once appeared in full costume; indeed I observed that during the summer it was impossible to tell from his attire whether he had arisen immediately from bed or no. He seemed to act on the principle of the Norwegian peasant, who apparently undresses once a year when the winter commences, and resumes his garments when the light once more comes back[pg 71]and the summer season sets in. Our friend had cultivated to great perfection the art of half sleeping during his waking hours—that is, during such time as he might be called upon to provide entertainment for man and beast. Now at the Montanvert, during the tourists’ season, this period extended over the whole twenty-four hours. It was necessary, therefore, in order that he might enjoy a proper physiological period of rest, for him to remain in a dozing state—a sort of æstival hybernation—for the whole time, which in fact he did; or else he was by nature a very dull person, and had actually a very restricted stock of ideas.

The landlord produced at once a battered teapot with a little sieve dangling from its snout, which had been stewing on the hob, and poured out the contained fluid into two stalked saucers of inconvenient diameter. Stimulated by this watery extract, we entered into conversation together. The sight of a tourist with an ice axe led by a kind of reflex process to the landlord’s unburdening his mind with his usual remarks. Like other natives of the valley he had but two ideas of“extraordinary”expeditions.“Monsieur is going to the Jardin?”he remarked.“No, monsieur isn’t.”“Then beyond a doubt monsieur will cross the Col du Géant?”he said, playing his trump card.“No, monsieur will not.”“Pardon—where does monsieur expect to go to?”“On the present occasion we go to try the Aiguille du Dru.”The landlord smiled in an[pg 72]aggravating manner.“Does monsieur think he will get up?”“Time will show.”“Ah!”The landlord, who had a chronic cold in the head, searched for his pockethandkerchief, but not finding it, modified the necessary sniff into one of derision, and then demanded the usual exorbitant price for the refreshment, amounting to about five times the value of the teapot, sieve and all. We paid, and left him chuckling softly to himself at our insane idea, as he replaced the teapot on the hob in readiness for the next arrival. That landlord, though physically sleepy, was still wide awake in matters of finance. He once charged me five francs for the loan of a secondhand collection of holes which he termed a blanket.

We see a chamois

We see a chamois

We got on to the glacier at the usual point and made straight across the slippery hummocks to the grass slope encircling the base of the Aiguille du Dru and the Glacier de la Charpoua. The glacier above gives birth to a feeble meandering little stream which wanders fitfully down the mountain side. At first we kept to the left, but after a while crossed the little torrent, and bearing more to the right plodded leisurely up the steep grass and rock slope. We had made good progress when of a sudden Franz gave a loud whistle and then fell flat down. The other two guides immediately followed his example and beckoned to us with excited gesticulations to behave in a similarly foolish manner. Thereupon we too sat down,[pg 73]and enquired what the purport of this performance might be. It turned out that there was a very little chamois about half a mile off. Knowing that it would be impossible to induce the guides to move on till the animal had disappeared, we seized the opportunity of taking an early breakfast. The guides meanwhile wriggled about on their stomachs, with eyes starting out of their heads, possessed by an extraordinary desire to miss no single movement of the object of their attention.“See, it moves,”said Franz in a whisper.“Himmel! it is feeding,”said Burgener.“It must be the same that Johann saw three weeks ago.”“Ach! no, that was but a little one”(no true chamois hunter will ever allow that a brother sportsman can possibly have set eyes on a larger animal than himself).“Truly it is fine.”“Thunder weather! it moves its head.”In their excitement I regretted that I could not share, not being well versed in hunting craft: my own experience of sport in the Alps being limited to missing one marmot that was sitting on a rock licking its paws. In due course the chamois walked away. Apparently much relieved by there being no further necessity to continue in their former uncomfortable attitudes, the guides sat up and fell to a warm discussion as to the size of the animal. A chamois is to a guide as a fish to the baffled angler or the last new baby to a monthly nurse, and is always pronounced to be beyond question the finest[pg 74]that has ever been seen. To this they agreed generally, but Franz, whose spirits had suddenly evaporated, now shook his head dismally, with the remark that it was unlucky to see a single chamois, and that we should have no success that day. Undaunted by his croaking, we pursued our way to the right side of the glacier, while our guide, who had a ballad appropriate to every occasion, sang rather gaspingly a tremulous little funeral dirge. We worked well across to the right, in order to obtain the best possible view of the Aiguille, and halted repeatedly while discussing the best point at which to attack the rocks. While thus engaged in reconnoitring close under the cliffs of the ridge running between the Aiguille Moine and the Aiguille Verte, a considerable block of ice, falling from the rocks above, whizzed past just in front of us and capered gaily down the slope. Hereupon we came rather rapidly to the conclusion that we had better proceed. Half an hour further on we reached the top of a steep little snow slope, and a point secure from falling stones and ice. Recognising that we must soon cross back to the rocks of the Dru, we tried to come to a final conclusion as to the way to be chosen. As usual, everybody pointed out different routes: even a vestry meeting could hardly have been less unanimous. Some one now ventured to put a question that had been troubling in reality our minds for some time past, viz. which of the peaks that towered above[pg 75]us was really the Aiguille du Dru. On the left there were two distinct points which, though close together, were separated apparently by a deep rift, and some distance to the right of the col which the previous party had tried to reach, a sharp tooth of rock towered up to a considerable height. Evidently, however, from its position this latter needle could not be visible from Chamouni or from the Montanvert. Again, it was clear that the mass comprising the two points close together must be visible from the valley, but which of the two was the higher? Alexander gave as his opinion that the more distant of these two points, that on the right, was the higher, and turned to the porter for confirmation. That worthy nodded his head affirmatively with extreme sagacity, evidently implying that he was of the same opinion. Franz on the other hand thought the left-hand peak was the one that we ought to make for, arguing that it most resembled the Dru as seen from the Montanvert, that there was probably little difference in height between the two, that our ascent would not be believed in unless we were to place a flag on the point visible from Chamouni, and finally that the left-hand peak seemed to be the easier, and would probably be found to conceal the sharper point of the right-hand summit. Having expressed these views, he in turn looked towards the porter to ascertain his sentiments. The porter, who was evidently of a complaisant tempera[pg 76]ment, nodded his head very vigorously to intimate that these arguments seemed the more powerful of the two to his mind, and then cocked his head on one side in a knowing manner, intended to express that he was studying the angles and that he was prepared to find himself in the right whichever view prevailed. We did not find out for certain till some time after that the right-hand summit, though concealed from view by the Montanvert, is very distinctly visible from Chamouni: excusable ignorance, as most of the Chamouni people are unaware of it to this day. Professor Forbes, as Mr. Douglas Freshfield has kindly pointed out to me, with his usual accuracy distinguished and also measured the two summits, giving their heights respectively as 12,178, and 12,245 feet.3Knowing little as we did then of the details of the mountain, we followed Franz’s advice and made for the left-hand peak, under the impression that if one proved accessible the other might also, and there really seemed no reason why we should not, if occasion demanded, ascend both.

Doubts as to the peak

Doubts as to the peak

Leading up from the glacier two distinct lines of attack presented themselves. The right-hand ridge descends to the col very precipitously, but still we had some idea that the rocks did not look wholly impossible. Again, on the left of the Dru the rocks are cut away very abruptly and form the long precipitous[pg 77]ridge seen from the Montanvert. This ridge was so jagged that we could see no possible advantage in climbing to any part of it, except just at the termination where it merges into the south-western face of the main mountain. The choice therefore, in our judgment, lay between storming the mountain by the face right opposite to us or else making for the col and the right-hand ridge; but the latter was the route that Messrs. Pendlebury and Kennedy had followed, and we could not hope to succeed where such giants had failed. Burgener indeed wished to try, but the rest of the party were unanimously in favour of attempting to find a way up the face, a route that at the worst had the merit of novelty. We thought too that if a closer acquaintance proved that the crags were ill arranged for upward locomotion, we might be able to work round on the face and so reach the col by a more circuitous route. With the naked eye—especially a myopic one—the rocks appeared unpromising enough; while viewed through the telescope the rocks looked utterly impossible. But little faith, however, can be rested in telescopic observations of a mountain, so far as the question of determining a route is concerned. Amateurs, who, as a rule, understand the use of a telescope much better than guides, have not the requisite experience to determine the value of what they see, while but few guides see enough to form any basis for determination. Moreover, the instrument we carried[pg 78]with us, though it had an extraordinary number of sections and pulled out like the ill-fated tradesman’s trousers in a pantomime, was not a very remarkable one in the matter of definition. Still it is always proper and orthodox to look at a new peak through the telescope, and we were determined not to neglect any formality on the present occasion.

Telescopic observations

Telescopic observations

We were now rather more than half-way up the Glacier de la Charpoua. To reach the most promising-looking point at which we might hope to get on the rocks, it was necessary to travel straight across the snow at about the level on which we stood. Now, this Glacier de la Charpoua is not constructed on ordinary principles. Instead of the orthodox transverse bergschrund it possesses a longitudinal crack running up its whole length, a peculiarity that vexed us hugely. Half a dozen times did we attempt to cross by some tempting-looking bridge, but on each occasion we were brought to a stand by impassable crevasses; then had to turn back, go up a little farther, and try again. It was already late in the day and we could ill spare the time lost in this to and fro movement. Eventually we reached a little patch of rocks not far from the head of the glacier. No sooner had we reached these rocks than the guides hunted up a suitable place and concealed some utterly worthless property as carefully as if they expected evil-minded marauders to be wandering about, seeking what they might pilfer.[pg 79]Having effected the cache with due care, Franz once again burst into a strange carol, the burden of which was unintelligible, but the chorus made frequent allusion to“der Teufel.”We now saw that, after all, the only feasible plan would be to cut our way still higher up a steep slope, and thus to work right round, describing a large curve. An occasional step required to be scraped, for the glacier is in shadow till late in the morning, owing to the Aiguille Verte intervening and cutting off the sun’s rays. Throughout the day our second guide had been burning with a desire to exhibit the good qualities of the most portentous ice axe I ever saw, an instrument of an unwieldy character resembling a labourer’s pick on the top of a May pole. Its dimensions were monstrous and its weight preposterous: moreover, the cutting spike had an evil curve and, instead of hewing out blocks of ice neatly, preferred to ram a huge hole in the slope and stick fast therein, while a quiver ran through its mighty frame and communicated itself to the striker, who shuddered at each blow as after taking a dose of very bitter physic. However, Franz was so proud of his halberd that we were obliged to sacrifice rapid progress to the consideration of his feelings, and he was accordingly sent on to cut the steps which were now found necessary. With no little exertion did he construct a staircase of which the steps were about the size of foot baths, and with no slight impatience did[pg 80]we watch his gymnastics and athletic flourishes, which were a sort of mixture of tossing the caber and throwing the hammer combined with a touch of polo. Ultimately we were able to quit the glacier for the actual face of the mountain, at a point probably not very much below that struck by the previous party; but it was our intention at once to bear off to the left.

Franz and his mighty axe

Franz and his mighty axe

We blundered a little on the rocks at first after the long spell of snow-walking. A cry from Franz caused us to look round, and we perceived that he had got entangled with the big axe, the spike of which was sticking into the third button of his waistcoat, causing him, as the strain on the rope above and below folded him up in a rather painful manner, to assume the attitude of a mechanical toy monkey on a stick. Fearing that he might be placed in the condition in which cats’ meat is usually offered for sale, we slackened the rope and saved him from impending perforation, but with the result that the axe bounded off down the slope, turned two or three summersaults, and then stuck up defiantly in a distant patch of snow, looking like a sign-post. While Franz went off to recover his loved treasure we huddled together on a very little ledge of rock, and sat there in a row like busts on a shelf—if the simile be not considered anatomically inappropriate. But these delays had wasted much time, and already success seemed doubtful. Little time could now be devoted to consultation, and[pg 81]little good would have come of it; now that we were on the rocks the only thing to do was to go straight on and see what would happen. At the same time we had a dim consciousness that we were considerably to the right of the best line of ascent. Our“general idea”—to borrow a military phrase of which, by the way, it may be remarked that the idea in question is usually confined to the general and is not shared in by the troops—consisted in making for the left-hand side or Montanvert aspect of the final peak. We set our teeth, whatever that may mean, then fell to with a will and for some two hours went with scarcely a check. And a rare two hours’ climb we had. The very thought of it makes the pen travel swiftly over the paper, as the scene comes back in every detail. How Burgener led the way without hesitation and almost without mistake; how our second guide chattered unceasingly, caring nought for a listener; how they both stuck to the rocks like limpets; how the big axe got in everybody’s way; how the rope got caught on every projecting spur of rock, jerking back the unwary, or when loose sweeping down showers of small angular stones from the little platforms and ridges, thereby engendering ill blood and contumely; how the silent porter climbed stolidly after us, and in the plenitude of his taciturn good-humour poked at us from below with his staff at inconvenient moments and in sensitive places; how at one moment we were[pg 82]flat against the rock, all arms and legs, like crushed spiders, and at another gathered into great loops like a cheese maggot on the point of making a leap; how a volley of little stones came whistling cheerily down from above, playfully peppering us all round; how our spirits rose with our bodies till we became as excited as children: of all these things it boots not to give any detailed description. Those who can recollect similar occasions need but to be reminded of them, and, to tell the truth, the minutiæ, though they are so graven upon the mind that a clear impression could be struck off years afterwards, are apt to prove somewhat tedious. Two facts I may note. One, that the rocks were at first very much easier than was expected; another, that we should have done better had we discarded the rope on this part of the climb: the rocks were hardly a fit place for those who could not dispense with its use. Ever and anon the guides’ spirits would rise to that level which may be called the shouting point, and they would jödel till they were black in the face, while the melodious roll of sound echoed cheerily back from the distant cliffs of the Aiguille Moine. And so we journeyed up.

A start in the wrong direction

A start in the wrong direction

Meanwhile the weather had changed; black clouds had come rolling up and were gathering ominously above us; it was evident that we had no chance of reaching the summit that day, even if it were practicable, but still we persevered desperately[pg 83]in the hope of seeing some possible route for a future attack. Progress, however, on a rock peak is necessarily slow when there are five on the rope, and we should probably have done more wisely if we had divided into two parties. We kept well to the left to a point on the face where a huge tower of rock stands four-square to all the winds of heaven that blow; and above us, as a matter of fact, there seemed to be a good many winds. This landmark, very conspicuous and characteristic of these aiguilles, seemed to be close to the ridge, but on reaching it we found that there was still a stiff passage intervening between us and the point from which we could overlook the other side of the mountain. Now we bore to the right and the climbing became more difficult. We made our way straight up a very shallow gully and finally reached a point on the western ridge overlooking the Montanvert, close to where this ridge merges into the corresponding face of the peak. Here a halt was called, for two reasons. In the first place a few flakes of snow were softly falling around and the gathering clouds betokened more to follow. Secondly, so far as we could judge through the mist, it was apparently impossible to ascend any higher from the place we had reached. So we cast off the rope and clambered separately to various points of vantage to survey the work that lay before us. The summit of the peak, enveloped in thin cloud, appeared to tower no great height above[pg 84]us, but we were too close under the cliff to estimate its elevation very correctly. At the time we thought that if we could only keep up the pace at which we had been going, an hour’s climb would have sufficed to reach the top. We found, it may be remarked parenthetically, that we were egregiously in error in this estimate some years later. The shifting clouds made the rock face—that is, the small extent of it that we could see at all—look much more difficult than in all probability it actually was. Through the mists we made out, indistinctly, a formidable-looking irregular crack in the rock face running very straight up and rather to our left, which apparently constituted the only possible route from our position to a higher level. But from where we stood we could not have reached the lower end of this crack without a ladder of about fifty feet in length, and the mist entirely prevented us from judging whether we could reach it by a détour. The choice lay between hunting for some such line or else in trying what seemed on the whole more practicable, viz. working round by the north-east face again, so as to search for a more easy line of ascent. But the latter alternative would have involved of necessity a considerable descent. While we debated what course to take the mists swept up thicker and thicker from below, and in a moment the peak above us was concealed and all the view cut off. A piercingly cold wind began to rise and a sharp storm[pg 85]of hail and sleet descended. Hints were dropped about the difficulty of descending rocks glazed over with ice with a proper amount of deliberation. It was obviously impossible to go up and might soon become very difficult to go down. The question was not actually put, but, in conformity with what was evidently the general sense of the meeting, we somewhat reluctantly made up our minds to return. A dwarf stone man was constructed, the rope readjusted, and half an hour’s descent put us out of the mist and snow. We stopped again and stared upwards blankly at the leve line of mist hanging heavily against the peak. Burgener now came forward with a definite resolution and proposed that we should stay where we were for the night and try again the next day. This was referred to a sub-committee, who reported against the suggestion on the ground that the stock of provisions left consisted of a tablespoonful of wine, four rolls, and a small piece of cheese which had strayed from the enveloping paper in the porter’s pocket and as a consequence smelt of tobacco and was covered with hairs and fluff. These articles of diet were spread on a rock and we mentally calculated the exact proportion that would fall to each man’s share if we attempted, as proposed, to subsist on them for a day and a half. But little deliberation was required. We decided at once to return. The porter gathered the fragments lovingly together and replaced them with other curious[pg 86]articles in his side pocket. By 8.30P.M.we were back at Chamouni, having been out a little under twenty hours.

An adjournment

An adjournment

A day or two later we made up our minds to start once more. Great preparations were made for an early departure, the idea that we should find it distasteful to start at the hour at which a London ball begins being scouted, as it usually is over-night. We impressed on an intelligent“boots”with great earnestness the absolute necessity of waking us precisely at midnight, and then went to our repose, feeling about as much inclined for sleep as a child does during the afternoon siesta intended to prepare it for the glories of a pantomime. The“boots”did not fail; in fact he was extra-punctual, as our departure was the signal for his retiring. At midnight the party assembled in the little courtyard in front of the hotel, but a dismal sight met our gaze. Under the influence of a warm sou’-wester, thick black clouds had filled the valley, and a gentle drizzle reminded us of the balmy climate of our own metropolis in November. Our Alpine tour for the season was nearly at an end, and we gazed despondently around. Ultimately one practical person suggested that if we did not go to the mountain we might as well go to bed, and the practical person endorsed his suggestion by walking off. A scurvy practical joke did the clerk of the weather play on us that night. In the morning the bright sunbeams[pg 87]came streaming in through the window, the sky was cloudless and the outline of every peak was sharply defined in the clear air. A more perfect morning for the expedition could hardly have been chosen. Some ill-timed remarks at breakfast referring pointedly to people who talk a good deal over-night about early starts, and the deep concern of the“boots”at our presumed slothfulness, goaded us to desperation. We determined to start again and to have one more try the next day whatever the weather might prove to be. Once more we found ourselves in the small hours of the morning on the path leading to Les Ponts. Had it not been for the previous day’s lesson we should probably have turned back from this point, for the whole of the mountain opposite was concealed in thick drifting mist. The guides flatly refused to go on as matters stood. We were determined on our side not to give it up, and so a compromise was effected. It was agreed to wait for an hour or two and see if matters mended. So we stretched ourselves out on a damp sloping rock, prepared to resume our journey at the slightest indication of a change for the better. Rest at such a time even under these hard, not to say stony, conditions is seductive, and, as we lay half dozing, strange heretical thoughts came crowding into the mind. Why toil up this mountain when one can rest in luxury on these knobby rocks? Why labour over the shifting moraine, the deceitful glacier, the slippery[pg 88]rock? What is the good of it all? Can it be vanity or——“Vorwärts!”The dream vanished as the cheery cry broke out from the guide engaged on outpost duty, and as we rose and stretched ourselves the whole aspect of affairs seemed changed. A distinct break in the clouds at the head of the Mer de Glace gave promise of better things in store, and we felt almost guilty of having wasted an hour or more at our halt. The break became larger and larger, and before long the great cloud banks resolved into one huge streamer flying from the summit of the peak. I fancy that, at any rate in the early stages of mountaineering, many good chances are thrown away on such days, for guides are as a rule somewhat prone to despondency in the early morning hours. Once started, however, they became wondrously keen, complained of our delay, and even asserted with some effrontery that they had predicted fine weather all the time, and this without a blush; still some one rather neatly defined blushing as a suffusion least seldom seen in those who have the most occasion for it, and guides share with politicians a certain power of manipulating their opinions to suit the exigencies of the moment. The traces of our former attempt assisted us materially on the glacier. Our plan of attack consisted in getting on the rocks at our former point, but working on this occasion much more directly up the face. Burgener conceived that by following this line of assault we[pg 89]should be able to ascend, by means of a gully which existed only in his own imagination, to a more practicable part of the peak. Between the two summits of the Aiguille du Dru may be seen, at any rate in photographs, a tempting-looking streak of snow: it seemed possible, if we could once reach the lower point of this streak, to follow its line upwards. The lower peak of the Dru is well rounded on its eastern face, and the rocks appear more broken than in other parts of the mountain.

The expedition resumed

The expedition resumed

If we could but once reach the cleft between the peaks there seemed every chance of our being able to reach the lower summit. At the outset progress was fast. We followed our former line till we were in sight of the rock tower and then at once bore off to the right. The climbing was rather more difficult, at least it seemed so to us in those days, than on the other part of the mountain with which we had previously made acquaintance. A series of short flat gullies had to be climbed, but there were exceedingly few inequalities to help us. The rope was of little or no use and might perhaps have been laid aside with advantage. We soon found that we had reached a higher point than at our previous attempt, and as the leader constantly returned favourable reports our spirits rose; so elated in fact did we become that the exact formalities to be observed on reaching the top were seriously discussed whenever the occasion offered for conversation, which[pg 90]was not very often. Old Franz chattered away to himself, as was his wont when matters went well, and on looking back on one occasion I perceived the strange phenomenon of a smile illuminating the porter’s features. Howbeit, this worthy spake no words of satisfaction, but pulled ever at his empty pipe. By dint of wriggling over a smooth sloping stone slab we had got into a steep rock gully which promised to lead us to a good height. Burgener, assisted by much pushing and prodding from below and aided on his own part by much snorting and some strong language, had managed to climb on to a great overhanging boulder that cut off the view from the rest of the party below. As he disappeared from sight we watched the paying out of the rope with as much anxiety as a fisherman eyes his vanishing line when the salmon runs. Presently the rope ceased to move and we waited for a few moments in suspense. We felt that the critical moment of the expedition had arrived, and the fact that our own view was exceedingly limited made us all the more anxious to hear the verdict.“How does it look?”we called out. The answer came back in patois, a bad sign in such emergencies. For a minute or two an animated conversation was kept up; then we decided to take another opinion and accordingly hoisted up our second guide. The chatter was redoubled.“What does it look like?”we shouted again.“Not possible from where we are,”[pg 91]was the melancholy answer, and in a tone that crashed at once all our previous elation. I could not find words at the moment to express my disappointment: but the porter could and gallantly he came to the rescue. He opened his mouth for the first time and spoke, and he said very loud indeed that it was“verdammt.”Precisely: that is just what it was. Having made this short speech, the porter allowed the smile to fade away from his features, shook out some imaginary ashes and proceeded to light some visionary tobacco, sucking at a lighted match through the medium of an empty pipe. It seemed hard to believe at first that we were to be baulked when so near the summit, and it was not till the guides had tried again and again to storm the almost vertical wall of smooth rock and had shown the utter impossibility of turning it either right or left, that we felt we were really beaten. One more forlorn chance remained: we might try the west face of the mountain from the spot we had reached at our first attempt, when the weather had prevented us from making any further progress. Had there been more time at our disposal we should have done better to try another line of ascent more to our right, that is, nearer to the col, and it might be possible to reach the cleft between the two summits by this means. As for the snow streak which looked so tempting at a distance, it is a delusion and a snare, if the latter term be applicable to a place[pg 92]which appears to be much more difficult to get into than it probably would be to get out of. We had already pretty fully realised that the mountain was more difficult to ascend than we had ever contemplated, and it seemed advisable at the moment to make for some definite point which at any rate we felt sure of reaching and to study the peak in detail to the best of our ability; so we made towards our cairn, though with little hope of gaining much knowledge thereby.

A sticking point

A sticking point

Without much difficulty, but not without some little danger from falling stones (though on the whole, the mountain is remarkably free from these annoyances, there being as a matter of fact but few loose stones to fall), we reached our former point and were able to judge distinctly of how much higher we had reached at our second attempt. We saw also that upward progress from the point on which we stood would not be possible, but it must be remembered that we were able only to see a small strip of the mountain lying directly above. Every crag that was not absolutely vertical appeared to overhang, and the few small cracks that might have afforded hand and foot hold led nowhere in particular. Altogether the view was depressing although limited. There was no time to hunt about for other routes, or we should certainly have done so, for we felt that though beaten our discomfiture only arose from the fact that we had chosen a wrong line of ascent. Possibly within a few yards of us lay a[pg 93]feasible route, but we knew not on which side it might be. Here it occurred to the porter for the first time that his pipe was empty and had been so all day: he thereupon made his second remark, which consisted in an audible request for something to put in it. We had dragged up with us (as a matter of fact the porter had carried it the whole time) some 200 feet of rope, thinking it might help us in the descent, but the part of the mountain on which we were presents no more difficulties in this respect than does Avernus.

Beaten back

Beaten back

Arrived on the snow slope opposite the rock face on which we had been climbing during the day, we stopped, extended the telescope, and tried to make out our exact line, and endeavoured also to discover what had been our error; no easy task, as any persons of experience will admit. At any time the appearance of this peak is deceptive, and the outline no more guides you to a knowledge of the natural details than does the outline of a fashionable lady’s dress. But as we looked the mountain seemed flattened out by reason of a blue evening mist which obscured all the irregularities. So we turned and resumed our journey down, running hard across the Mer de Glace, for the shades of night drew on apace, and reached Chamouni at 8.30 in the evening, leaving the guides at the Montanvert with half a bottle of thin red wine between three of them. We were overtaken by Edouard Cupelin, one of the best of the Chamouni guides, at[pg 94]any rate on rock mountains, on our way down, and he gave us a rather sensational account of his own adventures on the peak. In justice to him it should be mentioned that he was almost the only Chamouni guide who seemed to think the ascent possible, and in his opinion the general line that we had adopted was the correct one. Our second expedition thus from first to last occupied about 20½ hours, but the halts were not nearly so numerous as on the first occasion. The experience of our two days’ climbing led us to the conclusion that Cupelin was right. From the peculiar character of the rocks and the fact that our climbing lay chiefly along short flat gullies we were unable, as already remarked, to get a very clear idea of any part of the mountain except that on which we were actually engaged, and we were led to the opinion that the only plan to find a possible route would consist in trying in succession from below the different parts of the southern face. The final peak, which from this side shoots up clearly defined from the great mass of the mountain, seemed to us tolerably easy of ascent provided one could reach the base. A sort of depression extends three parts of the way round, and the edge of this shallow moat appeared to be defended by an inaccessible belt of vertical rock. The actual rocks were wholly unlike any met with elsewhere in our experience. Great vertical slabs were fitted together with an accuracy which was beautiful[pg 95]in its perfection, but irritating beyond conception to the climber. Progress upwards, when above the level of the col, necessitated a series of fatiguing gymnastics like swimming uphill, but the rocks where they were possible proved invariably firm and good. On both occasions we were stopped by sheer difficulty and probably saw the mountain at its very best. The snow on the rocks, which proved such a formidable difficulty to Mr. Pendlebury’s party, had almost entirely disappeared before our assault. The rocks were warm and the weather on the second day was perfect.

Results gained

Results gained

Such is the history of our first two attempts to climb this mountain. They served but to whet our appetite for success, but it was not till years after that we were fortunate enough to meet with that success.

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