CHAPTER V.

[pg 130]CHAPTER V.AN OLD FRIEND WITH A NEW FACEChamouni again—The hotelclientèle—A youthful hero—The inevitable English family—A scientific gentleman—A dream of the future—The hereafter of the Alps and of Alpine literature—A condensed mountain ascent—Wanted, a programme—A double“Brocken”—A hill-side phenomenon and a familiar character—A strong argument—Halting doubts and fears—A digression on mountaineering accidents—“From gay to grave, from lively to severe”—The storm breaks—A battle with the elements—Beating the air—The ridge carried by assault—What next, and next?—A topographical problem and a cool proposal—The descent down the Vallée Blanche—The old Montanvert hotel—The Montanvert path and its frequenters.It was the summer of 18— and our old quarters at Couttet’s hotel knew us once more. As we drove into the village of Chamouni we turned our heads carelessly around to note the various new hotels that might have arisen since our last visit. Observing that they were four or five in number, we rightly conjectured that we should find all the hotel keepers complaining bitterly of the hard times and the want of custom. Also we wondered in how many ways it was possible to build a house without any particular system of drainage, a deficiency which was at that time becom[pg 131]ing very marked in Chamouni, but has since, I believe, been improved. Yet the place itself had not altered essentially. New buildings of imposing exterior and little else do not materially alter a place that leads a life like that of modern Chamouni. The population, which throughout the summer appears to pass its time in the streets with its hands in its pockets, was still amusing itself in the same way. The tone of the village was just the same as we had always known it, and even M. Couttet himself had not succeeded in imparting any marine flavour by building an odd little lighthouse with an iron flag on the top which the architect had ingeniously represented as streaming permanently in a direction indicating a wind favourable for fine weather. We knew that we should find the same denizens in the hotel; and they were there.A youthful heroThere was a very young man with a very parti-coloured face from exposure on the glaciers, who had recently completed the thousand-and-first ascent of Mont Blanc and was perpetually posing gracefully against the door-post or in a lattice-work summer-house a few steps from the hotel, gazing towards the mountain and rather eagerly joining in any conversation relating to the perils of the ascent. There were three or four young ladies of various periods of life who gazed at him with admiration and enquired at intervals if he wasn’t very tired; to which the young man replied carelessly that he was not, and inwardly thought[pg 132]that the discomfort of sunburn and the consequent desquamation was on the whole cheaply bought, the while he wished the expedition had not cost so much and that so many others had not thought of making the same ascent. And then there came a lithe, active lady walker who had been up Mont Blanc and a great many other mountains too, and paid no more attention to the guides’ stereotyped compliments than a suspicious dog does to those of a nervous visitor: so the young man’s nose was put out of joint and he would have laughed scornfully at the fickleness of hero worship had not the skin of his face been in danger of cracking, and he wished his shirt collar had not been starched and thumped by the village washerwoman into the form of a circular linen saw.A scientific gentlemanThen there was an excitable Englishman of impulsive habits, with a large family who were perpetually playing a game of follow-my-leader with their parent, and who were under orders to weigh anchor on the following morning at five o’clock for the Montanvert and the Mauvais Pas. The boys were stoking up for the occasion with raw apples, and the girls were occupied, when not pursuing their restless father, in preparing a puggaree for his hat. There was a gentleman who affected the curious untidiness of raiment not unfrequently noticed among Sunday frequenters of the Thames, and who sought to establish a mountaineering reputation by constantly gazing at the peaks[pg 133]around in a knowing manner and wearing a flannel shirt of an obtrusive pattern destitute of any collar. There were guides about, who were on the point of being paid for their services and who were exceedingly polite and obsequious; others whose“tour”had just passed, were, proportionately, less deferential. There was an elderly lady whose whole soul appeared bent on a little stocking from which she never parted, and who turned the knitting needles to more account for toilet and other small purposes than I could have conceived to be possible. There were two or three mountaineers who appeared anxious only to avoid everyone’s gaze and who might be seen in byways and odd corners talking to bronzed guides who looked like business. Finally, there was a gentleman of statistical and scientific tendencies, much given to making quietly astonishing statements of astronomical facts and gently smiling as he rolled over his tongue and enjoyed the flavour of the vast numbers with which it was his pleasure to deal. He absolutely revelled and wallowed in figures. Buttonholed in a corner and compelled to listen with deferential attention, I secretly writhed as he crushed me slowly with the mere weight of his numerals. He shared with others of his frame of mind the peculiarity of always keeping something in hand and skilfully working up to a climax. Such and such a star was so many millions of miles off. We opened our eyes to the proper degree of width and[pg 134]observed,“Bless me!”or,“You don’t say so?”Instantly he would rejoin,“Ah, but that’s nothing to so and so,”and then favoured us with a still more immeasurable distance. We expressed a slightly greater degree of intelligent amazement. Thereupon he nodded his head, gently inclined it a little to one side, and smiled softly. It gave him such evident pleasure to have a listener that I attended with due reverence to his enthusiastic computations; knowing my man, I felt sure that he was keeping back a real staggerer to finish up with, and was prepared to assume varying degrees of surprise up to the moment when it should come. Unfortunately I misjudged its advent, and feeling that I had somewhat lost in his estimation by evincing undue astonishment at a comparatively small array of figures, I sought to turn the conversation by requesting to know how long he thought it might be before the great rock peaks around us would have crumbled away to their bases. The calculation was too trivial and the number of millions of generations too small to interest him much, but he vouchsafed an approximate estimate.A dream of the futureI let him babble on and fell a-thinking. The peaks were crumbling away bit by bit no doubt, the glaciers shrinking. At a bound the mind leapt into a future which, after all, might be not so very unlike a past. The Alps things of the past! What, I wondered, when the mountains were all levelled down and[pg 135]smiling valleys occupied the troughs of the glaciers of to-day, would some future commentators make of the literature so industriously piled up by the members and followers of the Alpine Club? Imagination ran riot as in a dream, and I fancied some enthusiast exploring the buried city of the second Babylon and excavating the ruins of the“finest site in Europe.”I pictured to myself the surprise in store for him on digging out the effigies of some of our naval and military heroes, and the mingled feelings with which he would contemplate the unearthed statue of George IV. It seemed possible that in that far-off epoch to which my friend’s calculations had borne me, the Alpine Club itself might have ceased to exist. Pursuing his explorations in an easterly direction, the excavator might perchance have lighted on a strange tunnel, almost Arcadian in its simplicity of design, and marvelled at the curious and cheap idols of wax and wood which the people of that ancient day had evidently worshipped. Turning north again, this Schliemann of the future would pass by the ruins of S. Martin’s Church, eager to light upon the precious archives of the historic Alpine Club itself. How eagerly he would peruse the lore contained in the Club library, anxious to decipher the inscriptions and discover what manner of men they were who lived and climbed when mountains and glaciers were still to be found on this planet. Human nature would[pg 136]probably not have changed much, and the successful explorer might even have been asked to favour a scientific society of the future with the result of his discoveries, to which in all probability he would have acceded, with a degree of reluctance not quite sufficient to deter the secretary of the society from pressing him.A condensed mountain ascentAn abstract of his description of our sibylline leaves I fancied might run somewhat in this style:—After commenting on the fact that the maps and illustrations did not usually correspond in number with the list set forth in the index of the volumes unearthed, he might proceed thus:—“In pursuit of their great and glorious object these ancient heroes appear to have undergone vast personal discomfort. It is difficult therefore to realise fully why so many engaged in this form of exploration. Instances have been given by other learned antiquarians who have studied the habits of this people, of a similar purposeless disregard of comfort, such as the four-wheeled wooden boxes in which they travelled about, the seats in their churches, &c. The outset of their expedition was almost invariably characterised by a display of bad temper, attributed to early rising. After a varying number of hours of excessive toil the travellers were wont to arrive at some fearsome chasm spoken of as a‘bergschrund.’On this, if the subject-matter of their narrative was insufficient in[pg 137]quantity, they were wont to descant and enlarge at length; sometimes, as we judge, in their descriptions they enlarged the bergschrund itself. They then crossed it. Immediately after this incident they were in the habit of eating, and the minute and instructive details commonly given enable us to form a tolerably accurate opinion as to the nature of the diet with which they supported their exhausted frames. Next they traversed strange localities for which there appear to have been no adequately descriptive expressions in their own language. In fact the difficulty of deciphering these records is greatly increased by the fact that the writers were versatile linguists, for they constantly make use of words of a hybrid character. They were evidently practised meteorologists and took much interest in this subject, as may be gathered throughout from their writings. At length they reached summits, of the nature of which we in our time can have but a feeble conception. So great was their relief at the termination of their self-imposed but toilsome task, that they habitually burst forth into language characterised by a wealth of imagery and a fervour of poetic description which unfortunately conveys but little idea to us in our day of what they actually saw. In descending they were all commonly within an ace of meeting with a violent death. The mode in which the danger attacked them varied within certain restricted limits, but it always[pg 138]occurred and the escape was always narrow. The peril over, they remarked that they breathed freely again, and then at once fell to eating. Arrived at a successful termination of their wearisome labour, they advised others to do the same. They dealt out unsparing satire to their companions, unlimited praise to their guides, and unmeasured ridicule to their porter. They commonly expressed throughout their descriptions grave doubts and uncertainty as to the issue of the expedition: a curious and noteworthy fact, for the heading of the accounts always divulged at the outset their ultimate success. The construction, therefore, of their narratives was in accordance with a well-recognised model and appeared capable of little variation. The only other facts that we can glean are that they were prodigious eaters, were much pestered by some extinct species of insects, and that they make frequent allusions to a substance termed tobacco. The constant repetition of these incidents stamps upon their writings the impress of unexaggerated veracity. Still they were not universally held in favour, indeed were regarded with disapprobation by some individuals of their own race. It would seem indeed from internal evidence that, had it not been for frequent and sharp criticism of their proceedings, their pastime might never have inveigled so many persons with its seductive fascination.”Now at the time at which these prophetic fancies[pg 139]were conjured up we had just completed an expedition which it seemed might be worthy of attention, solely on the ground of its very contradictoriness. For the features of this climb were most opposed to those already mentioned, and in fact mention of it scarcely seemed admissible in an Alpine narrative. We took no porter with us to fill the rôle of first low comedy man. We had very little to eat; our stock of wine ran out through a leaky gourd; our tobacco was wet and there was no bergschrund, and yet all this happened on a mountain close to Chamouni.Wanted, a programme“Some vast amount of years ago, ere all my youth had vanished from me,”as the poet says, at a date therefore which for obvious reasons it is inexpedient here to mention, I found myself, as already mentioned, at Chamouni. With me was an old mountain friend and fellow climber, J. Oakley Maund. We were both burning with desire to add to the list of the many successful expeditions we had made together, but, as a matter of fact, were somewhat gravelled for lack of suitable matter. Like a ministry on the eve of a general election or a gentleman without a sixpenny-piece at a theatre, we were sorely in need of a programme. The locality was somewhat unfortunately chosen for those in whom the ancient spirit was not yet quite extinct and who wanted to do something new. Ever since the days when Jacques Balmat, Dr. Paccard, and the great De Saussure had donned strange apparel[pg 140]and shown the way—that is to say, for nearly a hundred years—people had been climbing mountains in the district, and it was not to be wondered at if it were hard to find some expedition which nobody else had thought of, or, worse still, had achieved. We gazed at the map and made thumb marks all over it. In every conceivable direction ran little lines indicative of previous explorations. We studied thecarte en relief, but without much hope of getting any information of value from this inaccurate and lumpy absurdity. Mont Blanc, which, according to this work of plastic art, was modelled out as some eight or ten thousand feet higher than any other point of the chain, had had all the snow worn off its summit by much fingering, so that the component pasteboard showed through. Rivers ran uphill in this map, and lakes were inclined at an angle; bits of sticking plaister represented towns and villages, and the whole article was absolutely bristling with little spikes and points like the old panoramas of London or the docks at Liverpool. Still a considerable number of people seemed willing enough to pay fifty centimes for the pleasure of indicating elaborate expeditions on it with their fore-fingers, and appeared to derive pleasure from gazing on a pasteboard misrepresentation when they could by looking out of window see the real thing for nothing. We abandoned thecarte en reliefand took Jaun and Kaspar Maurer into our confidence. The[pg 141]only suggestions that they could make were the Aiguille des Charmoz and the Dent du Géant. The former of these two peaks we had both tried to ascend in former seasons, without success. Jaun did not think then that it was possible, and without sharing his opinion we gave way to it. With regard to the latter mountain we all thought at the time that an undue amount of what is vaguely termed“artificial aid”would be necessary to ensure success, an opinion confirmed by subsequent events, for when Signor Sella achieved the honour of the first ascent he was only able to accomplish it by somewhat elaborate engineering appliances. Some bold person of an original turn of thought suggested of course a variation of some way up Mont Blanc, but the utter impossibility of discovering the slightest deviation from any previously ascended route and the utter uselessness of trying to find one caused a general shout of derision, and the bold person thereupon withdrew his suggestion and ordered some coffee. Besides, the weather was fine; every day swarms of tourists could be seen, crawling up the sides of the monarch of mountains, in numbers as many as the flies on a sugar loaf in a grocer’s window on a hot day.One evening we sat in front of Couttet’s hotel staring pensively at the familiar outline of the row of aiguilles, and wishing we had lived in the days of Albert Smith, the best friend Chamouni ever had.[pg 142]At any rate, at that time the natives were unsophisticated and the mountains about were not all done to death. The valley between us and the chain was filled with a light haze, not sufficient to conceal the outline of the mountains but yet enough to blot out their detail and solidity. As the moon rose behind the chain we saw a strange phenomenon. A silhouette was thrown forwards on to the curtain of haze and photographed on it with sharp and clear definition, so that we could recognise, at an immense height, the shadowed peaks looking almost as massive as the actual mountains. Nor was this all; a second curtain of mist seemed to be suspended, in a vertical stratum, in front of the former one, and the shadows were again marked out on this, infinitely more magnified and less distinct, but still perfectly recognisable. As a result we were able to see the semblance of three distinct tiers of mountains one above the other, looking so massive that we could scarcely realise that they were but transparent ghosts of the peaks; and the phenomenon, a double“Brocken,”must have lasted for more than half an hour. However, we desired something more of the nature of the substance than the shadow, and ultimately came to the conclusion that it was absolutely necessary for our peace of mind to accomplish something on the morrow, and as it really mattered but little what that something might be, provided a good climb was afforded, we must yield[pg 143]to circumstances and perforce adopt the latter-day necessity of all mountaineers. If we could not find the right way up some new mountain we could at least take the wrong way up an old one.The Aiguille du MidiSo the next morning we walked up to the Pierre Pointue as a preliminary step—a good many and rather arduous steps—towards the object in view. The exertion of toiling up the zigzags or the more rarefied atmosphere had a remarkable effect on one of the party, whose face when we reached the chalet was found to be wreathed in smiles and wearing an expression of great intelligence. He had in fact become possessed of an idea. Bubbling over with self-satisfied chuckles, he suggested that we should ascend the Aiguille du Midi by the face directly in front of us and then descend on the other side, thus making a col of the mountain. The idea found favour instantly, and the intelligent person was so much pleased that he ordered a bottle of wine, plastered over with a very costly variety of label, and regretted it. Investigation of the cellar revealed only two casks of wine, but the“carte”comprised a long list of various vintages. Fired with enthusiasm and inflated withlimonade gazeuse, we left the chalet and strode vigorously up the hill in order to prospect the route and reconnoitre the rocks. The exertion and the pace soon told upon us, the sooner that it was a hot, enervating day; the kind of day that makes one perforce admire the[pg 144]ingenious benevolence of nature in fashioning out on the grassy slopes rounded inequalities, exactly adapted to those of the human figure in a seated or recumbent position. The heated air rising from the ground gave flickering and distorted views of distant objects, like unto marine phenomena viewed through the cheap panes of a seaside lodging-house window. The grasshoppers were extraordinarily busy; the bees droned through the heavy air; the ants, overcome apparently by the temperature, had given up for the time straining their jaws by their foolish practice of carrying large parcels about without any definite object, and had retired to the shady seclusion of their own heaped-up residences; the turf was most inviting. It now occurred to us that there was no absolute necessity for the whole party to ascend on the present occasion, and that perhaps the guides might go up quicker alone. The details of this suggestion were acceded to on the part of the amateurs of the party with astonishing alacrity and unanimity. We laid the scheme before the guides, and they also thought it a very fine one. Thereupon, with much parade and ceremony, they braced themselves up for great exertion, borrowed the telescope, remarked that they expected to be back some time during the night, and started upwards with somewhat over-acted eagerness. My companion and I disposed ourselves comfortably in the shade, and resumed an argument which had[pg 145]originally commenced some days previously. I waxed eloquent on the subject under discussion and with much success, for such was the force of my logic and the cogency of my reasoning that I bore down on my opponent, and reduced him in a short time to absolute silence, from which he did not awake for nearly two hours.Ephemeral acquaintancesAbout this time the guides, who in all probability had also been comfortably asleep within a short distance of us, returned and gave a favourable report concerning the mountain. Elated by this news, we climbed a short distance further up, and met there a large party of ephemeral acquaintances who were taking an afternoon’s pleasure on the hills. After the manner of people when so engaged, they set forth with great energy and climbed up a steep little rock tump a few hundred yards distant. Arrived at the summit, they roared out unintelligible remarks to us, and we did the same to them till we were hoarse; we waved our hands and hats and they flourished their handkerchiefs as if they were our dearest friends on earth, just setting out on an emigrant ship for the Antipodes. The party then descended; the nearer they came the less friendly and demonstrative were we, and by the time we met the warmth of affection recently manifested on both sides had wholly evaporated, and we conversed in ordinary tones on indifferent topics. Then they set out for another little hill,[pg 146]and we were moved, apparently by some uncontrollable impulse, to go through the same idiotic performance. Emotional behaviour of a similar kind is not infrequently observed in the mountains. We journeyed together back to the Pierre Pointue, viewing each other with distrust and suspicion; and when it was found that we had bespoken the beds—if the exaggerated packing-cases lined with straw bags could be considered such—we parted on terms the reverse of friendly. So frail are the links that bind human affections.A familiar characterStanding in front of the hut was a type of character very familiar in these tourist-frequented districts. His exterior was unpromising; his beard of a fortnight’s growth, or thereabouts, somewhat fitful withal and lacking in uniformity of development. A hard hat, with a shining green veil folded around its battered outline, decorated his head; his raiment was black and rusty, his legs cased in canvas gaiters fastened with many little girths and buckles, and in his right hand he grasped a trusty three-franc pole made of wainy deal, and surmounted at the top by a brown knob similar to those which come out suddenly when we try to open a chest of drawers in a cheap lodging. He fidgeted about for a while, asked questions in a rather loud tone of voice at us, and we felt that it was his intention to enter into conversation. It was even so. After a while he sidled up and[pg 147]requested with much diffidence to be informed what we proposed to climb on the morrow. Now the true mountaineer, however amiable his disposition, always shrinks up into his shell when such a question is put to him on the eve of an expedition. My companion indicated by a sweep of the arm a space of territory extending about from the Mont Buet on the one side round to the Aiguille de Gouté on the other. Our friend surveyed from end to end the extensive panorama suggested, then looked seriously at us and observed that we should probably find it a fine walk. We expressed gravely the opinion that he was quite right, and then went in to dinner, while our composite friend expatiated on the project to his companions as an expedition but little out of the ordinary run, and one that he was perfectly prepared to undertake himself if so disposed; then he resumed his contemplation of a rock some ninety feet or so in height jutting out through the glacier above, which he was under the impression was a lady descending from Mont Blanc. We did not learn his name, but the individual may, nevertheless, possibly be recognised. Some points of the argument were still unsettled when we climbed over the edges of our respective boxes and vanished into the strawy depths below. The clear moonlight streamed in through the window and prevented sleep; so I lay in my wooden box thinking over the recent discussion, but with such a distinct intention—[pg 148]like little Paul Dombey with Mrs. Pipchin—of fixing my companion presently, that even that hardy old mountaineer deemed it prudent to counterfeit slumber.In the small hours of the morning we got under weigh. For some time we had been leading a life of sloth in Chamouni, and the delight of finding ourselves once more on the mountain path, and making for a rock climb, entirely precluded that fractiousness which, as all readers of Alpine literature know, ought properly to be described at this period of an expedition. The path was irregular and demanded some equanimity, for the stumbling-blocks were innumerable and artfully placed to trip up the unwary in an aggravating manner. Feeling it unfair that all the work should be thrown on the guides, I had volunteered, rather magnanimously, to bear part of the burden, and selected the lantern as my share. By this means it was not only possible to walk in comfort over a well-lighted track, but the bearer was enabled also to regulate the pace to a speed convenient to his own feelings. Before long, however, we reached the lower snow patches of the Glacier des Pélèrins, and the light was no longer necessary.Halting doubts and fearsWe made straight across the crisp snow to the base of a promising-looking rock buttress lying to the right of the snow gully that runs up the side of the mountain, feeling sure that either by the rocks or the snow a[pg 149]way up could be found. And now I am painfully conscious of a glaring defect in this Alpine narrative. A mountain ascent without a bergschrund is as tame as a steeplechase without a water jump, but candour compels the admission that no bergschrund was visible. Either we had hit on a spot where the orthodox chasm was filled up for the time, or else this particular glacier was an exception to all others previously treated of in mountain literature. In a few seconds we found ourselves on the rocks, delighted to exchange the monotonous mode of progression compulsory on snow for the varied gymnastic exercises demanded on rocks. The sun had risen, the axes clanked merrily against the stones, the snow was in good condition for walking, everything seemed favourable, and we gazed down complacently on the distance already traversed. Above us the mountain was broken up and easy, and we climbed on rapidly, each in the fashion that seemed best to him. So good was our progress at first, that we were already far up the buttress, and could barely see our morning’s tracks in the snow beneath, when a halt was called for breakfast, and we had time to look around. Now, however unconventional this expedition may have been in many respects, the sagacious student of Alpine literature will know that it must be wholly impossible to omit all reference to the weather. As soon might one expect two prosaic persons of slight acquaintanceship to abjure the topic at a chance[pg 150]meeting. The western sky wore a rather ominous look of half mourning, and heavy grey and black clouds were whirling about and forming up in close order in a manner suggestive of rising wind. Even at this stage of the proceedings the thought crossed our minds that the storm which was evidently brewing might possibly overtake us, and that perhaps we ought at once to turn back.The storm gathersOne thing was evident; that we must decide quickly, whatever we did. We determined to push on for a while, and with that intent girded ourselves with the rope and worked our way on to the top of the first buttress. At this point, further progress directly upwards was impossible, and we were compelled to cross the gully and make for the rock on the left-hand side. Considerable care is always necessary in crossing, horizontally, a gully filled with snow, where the rope is rather a source of danger than of security. We had to give all our attention to the passage, and when we reached the rocks opposite, the climbing, though not formidable, was still sufficiently difficult to occupy all our thoughts for the moment, and we had but little leisure, and perhaps but little inclination, for meteorological observations. At the top of the rocks a promising snow slope, stretching upwards with gentle curves and sweeps, seemed to offer a fair prospect of rapid progress. Such snow slopes are at all times a little[pg 151]deceptive. Even when the climber is close to them they look oftentimes much easier than they immediately after prove to be. From a distance, say from under the verandah of a comfortable hotel, when the climberin posseindicates the way he would pursue with the end of his cigar, they are absurdly easy. So, too, are obstacles in the hunting-field, such as stiff hedges and uncompromising gates, easy enough when the Nimrod studies them as he whirls along in an express train. Subsequently, when immediately associated with a horse, these same obstacles assume a different guise. Then are the sentiments of the hunter prone to become modified, and compassion for dumb beasts becomes more prominent in thethoughtfulvotary of the chase, till finally it may be observed that the little wits jump sometimes more than the great ones. Even so does the mountaineer often discover, on a nearer acquaintance that the snow incline up which he proposed to stride merrily is inclined at a highly inconvenient angle. However, at the commencement of our slope we found the snow in good condition, and advanced quickly for some little distance, but before we had got very far it was necessary to resort to the axe, and we had then ample opportunities of looking round. The clouds were lowering more and more, but as they were swept up by a sou’westerly wind, the intervening mass of the mountain prevented us from seeing thoroughly what might be in store for us.[pg 152]The wind, too, was growing stronger every minute, and my companion, who was still pursuing his argument, and, as it appeared subsequently, making some rather good points, had to exert himself considerably in order to make his voice heard.Presently we halted for a few minutes on some spiky little rocks, and again looked about. The weather prospects were just in that doubtful state that prompts every member of the party to ask the others what they think. Maurer looked exceedingly vacant and made no remark. Jaun put a bit of snow in his mouth, but declined to give an opinion. We, not to be outdone, assumed very profound expressions, as if prepared to find ourselves in the right whatever happened, but, following the example of Lord Burleigh in the famous tragedy, we said nothing either. At last, some one suggested that we might go on for a little, and then see. Accordingly we went on for a little, but then as a matter of fact the mists swept up around us and we did not see anything at all. It was, no doubt, inconvenient that we were unable to penetrate with our gaze to the regions above, but still we felt that there was one slight counterbalancing advantage, for there was present the haunting consciousness that the gigantic telescope of Chamouni was pointed in our direction, and at least the enveloping mist ensured that privacy which is not always accorded to climbers pursuing their pastime within range of these instruments of science.[pg 153]“From gay to grave”In the hope that the condition of the upper snow might be good, and perhaps rather mistaken in the height we had already reached, we made up our minds to push on, with the view of reaching at any rate the top of the ridge before the storm broke. Every now and again a rent in the clouds above, lasting for a few seconds, showed us that the wind was blowing with great force, as thin clouds of loose snow were swept up and whirled along the face in curling wreaths. The spectacle might not, at first sight, have been thought highly diverting: yet as we pointed upwards to the ridge and watched the racing snow-drifts driving over the slopes we were making for, we all laughed very heartily. So universal is the tendency to be amused at the sight of discomfort that it even extends to the contemplation of its occurring shortly to oneself. In the paulo-post-future the experience is exhilarating: in the actual present it is less laughter-moving. Laughter in the presence of events that are, in the true sense of the word, sensational, comes almost as a reflex action (to borrow an expression from the physiologists), and the sympathetic distress that follows takes an appreciable time to develop. I can recall once being a witness with some others of a ghastly accident by which several people were precipitated, together with a mass of broken timbers and débris of all sorts, from a great height. A door was burst open and the ruin met our eyes suddenly. To this day I can[pg 154]remember sounds of laughter at the first view—hysterical if you like to call it so, and not mirthful, but still laughter. In a few seconds the realisation of what had happened came, and then came the distress and with it expressions of horror, as all worked manfully to help and rescue the sufferers. The sequence of emotions was perfectly natural, and only they who have never passed through such an experience would speak of inhumanity. There is no want of humanity in the matter. The suddenness of the impression begets the train of emotions, and the brain grasps the facts but slowly. To take another instance: I have been told by a man whose quickness and presence of mind were remarkable—a man who as a schoolboy won a Royal Humane Society’s medal—that on one occasion he witnessed a friend fall over a staircase from a great height. The accident was in the highest degree unexpected: and the witness walked leisurely on as if nothing had happened. But in a few seconds came like a severe blow the sudden realisation of what had taken place. Thought is not always quick. We can no more exert our minds to their fullest capacity on a sudden than we can put forth our utmost physical strength on a sudden. Action when almost instantaneous is independent of the higher mental faculties, and is but a reflex. The experience of those who have been in railway accidents will be of the same nature. In climbing up a very steep or difficult place[pg 155]if a man falls all are prepared more or less for such an accident. The whole attention is given to guarding against a probable contingency, and it follows that the mind can instantly realise its occurrence. And that such is the case I have been unlucky enough to witness, though most fortunately the fall was attended with no serious consequences. On the same principle, to take a more trivial example, on difficult rocks it is the rarest possible accident for a man to sprain his ankle or knee. The muscles are always prepared for a possible slip and kept in tension on the alert. On the loose moraine, when walking leisurely or carelessly, such an accident is a thousand times more likely to occur.The storm breaksOur leader worked away with a will, but the snow got harder at every step. The growing force of the wind, which in nautical language had increased from that vague degree known as a capful to the indefinite force of a stiff breeze, and the increasing steepness of the slope, compelled Jaun to make the steps larger and larger as we ascended. It soon became evident that the storm would overtake us long before we could hope to get on to the ridge, and that we had deliberately walked into something of a trap. The steps had been cut so far apart that to descend by the same line would have involved the construction of a fresh staircase, and on actually turning, we found that what was a stiff breeze behind us was a half gale when it met our faces. It was certainly easier to go on[pg 156]than to go back; so we went further and fared much worse. The slope became steeper, the ice harder, the half gale became a whole gale, and the delay between each step seemed interminable. Suddenly, as we passed from under the lee of a projecting slope on our right, a tremendous gust of wind, which seemed to have waited for a few moments in order to collect its full forces, swept suddenly down and almost tore us from our foothold. With that a torrent of hail fell, and for a few moments we had enough to do to hold on where we stood. Even my companion’s conversation slackened. He had astutely selected a place in the caravan immediately behind me, and as the gale was blowing directly on our backs was enabled to fire off his remarks and arguments without any possibility of response. Anything that I said in answer was audible only to our leader, who took not the smallest interest in the discussion. Unfortunately, too, it was difficult to listen with any attention; for as the gusts came on we were forced to swing all our faces round like chimney cowls instantly in the same direction. The squalls became more frequent and more violent, the thunder and lightning played around merrily, and as the wind howled by we had to throw ourselves flat against the slope, adopting the undignified attitudes of a deer-stalker nearing the brow of a Scotch hill—attitudes which bring somewhat unduly into prominence the inadequate nature of the national costume.[pg 157]Fortunately, as has been said, we were screened from view; and our poses, though possibly ungraceful, were at any rate uncriticised. The big hailstones, falling softly around, filled up the steps as they were made, and our feet were buried up to the ankles in a moment. In a minute or two the hurricane passed for the time; then we arose, shook ourselves, smiled at nothing in particular, and the leader would find time during the comparative lull to hack out three or four fresh steps. Certain sounds, not accounted for by the elements, coming up from below, may have been suggestions or may have been arguments, but they were knocked out of all intelligible shape before they reached the head of the caravan. Not even the porter at Lloyd’s or the captain of a merchantman could have made himself audible in that cyclone. Upwards we went, fighting for each step and for each yard gained as hard as if we were storming a fortress. Even while the leader had his axe in the air ready to deliver a fresh blow a distant roar would betoken another onslaught, and we instantly fell flat down like tin soldiers struck with the well-directed pea, and disposed ourselves at a convenient angle of resistance; and so we went on, when we did go on at all. If the relation is wearisome it is also realistic, for we found that the actual experience was far from being lively; but all things must have an end, including even thefeuilletonin a Parisian newspaper or the walk up to[pg 158]the Bel Alp on a hot day, and the termination came almost unexpectedly.A battle with the elementsWe had got thoroughly tired of perpetually clinging on by the simple force of adhesion to the storm-swept slope, and felt almost inclined to give up the struggle against the elements and to go straight on trusting to chance. Maurer, below, wore the expression of frowning discontent best seen in amateur tenors singing a tender love ditty. Jaun had remarked half-a-dozen times that the very next squall would infallibly sweep us all away, and his cheerful prophetic utterances really seemed on the point of being fulfilled, when, almost suddenly, the snow seemed to vanish from under our feet, and we found ourselves on the summit of the ridge; at least directly above us no more ascent appeared to present. It was difficult to realise adequately the exact direction in which we were facing, but I suppose that as the ridge runs about north and south by the compass, we were facing a little south of east. This was an important matter to decide, as the mist was gathered thick around and the idea of descent had to be at once considered now that we had got to a position of some degree of definiteness. At our feet the snow slope fell away in a manner so distinct that we were without doubt really on the top of some portion of the ridge. The difficulty was to estimate how far to our right the summit of the Aiguille du Midi itself lay. However, we felt with relief the truth of[pg 159]somebody’s remark that we had at length succeeded in getting somewhere; so far, no doubt, matters were satisfactory. Howbeit, our pleasure was somewhat modified by the discovery that the gale blew with considerably more force on the south-east side than it did on the one by which we had ascended. We looked towards the south and endeavoured to gather our wits together to elucidate the geographical problem that presented. At the foot of the slope must lie the upper basin of the Vallée Blanche and the Glacier de Tacul; unfortunately there seemed to be a prodigious storm going on in that basin, and clouds of loose snow were whirling about in all directions. It was impossible to understand these winds; one might have thought that Æolus had just stepped out to attend a committee meeting of the gods, and that all his subordinates were having high jinks during his absence.Beating the airThe possibility of actually completing the ascent of the mountain seemed out of the question, and the hope that we might have crept under the shelter of the ridge to the final little rock cone of the Aiguille was literally thrown to the winds. Here again, therefore, this narrative is highly unconventional, for it is impossible to consult M. Roget’s“Thesaurus”and indulge with its aid in any grandiloquent description of the view from the summit, although my account has now reached the stage at[pg 160]which such word painting ought properly to be inserted. We turned to our right, the direction in which the peak lay, and walked some little way along the ridge till we got under shelter of a rock; now we were able once more to stand upright and, huddled together, took the opportunity which had been denied to us for some hours to interchange views. All agreed that the situation was vile; that word, at least, may be taken as the resultant of the various forcible epithets actually employed. All agreed that the cold was intense, the prospect doubtful, and the panoramanil. There was but one redeeming feature: extreme discomfort will reveal humour in those in whom that quality would not be expecteda priorito find a dwelling-place, and to each one of us the spectacle of his three wobegone companions seemed to afford, if not amusement, at least an inkling of complacency. Maurer removed the pack from his shoulders, and it was then perceived that our cup of misery was full, and our sole remaining bottle of wine completely empty. We had originally started with two, one white and one red, of an inferior and indigestible quality, but had left the white wine down below on the snow; we had previously drunk it. The other bottle had broken against some projecting rock in climbing up, and the resulting leakage had led to the formation of a very large circular red patch in the small of Maurer’s back, wherever that anatomical region might be[pg 161]situated in our squat and sturdy little guide. After muttering together in patois for a little while the guides seized their axes and suddenly commenced with great vigour to hack out a large hole in the ice. We fell to also, and for some few minutes all worked away with the best of good will; the splinters and little blocks of ice flew around under our blows, and before long we had excavated a flat basin capable of holding water. At the least, the exercise had the effect of warming us, and Maurer, who previously, from the effects of the cold, had been the colour of a congested alderman in the face, gradually assumed a more healthy hue. We now inquired what the object might be of preparing this cavern. Thereupon Jaun gave vent to the ingenious suggestion that we had better remain where we were and sleep in it. The idea seemed too likely to lead to permanent repose to be commendable, and we received his proposition, as befitted its nature, with some coolness, remarking that on the whole we should prefer to go home. This view led to further conversation; ultimately we descended a few feet on the south-east side and then made our way along the face of the slope in a south-westerly direction towards the hut on the Aiguille du Midi. The snow was soft, and we went on for some distance without difficulty, till we again reached the ridge on the south-west side of the Aiguille, having thus passed round the base of the final peak of the mountain, which consists of a[pg 162]comparatively small rocky cone jutting up from the main ridge. We were still of course a long way from the hut, but as in this situation we were much more sheltered, we took the opportunity to review the state of affairs and to consider our position, which for the moment, like that of the pocket of a lady’s ball dress, was indeterminate. What were we to do? As with the diners at“Prix fixe”restaurant, there were three courses for us: we might go down on one side, we might descend on the other side, or we might remain where we were. The latter alternative was as distasteful now as it had been just previously, and it was negatived decisively.“Very good,”said the guides;“if you won’t stay here we must go down that way,”and they pointed in a direction westerly by the compass. My companion and I were opposed to this plan for two reasons: one that the route would, if it led anywhere in particular, take us down to the Glacier des Bossons, where we did not want to go, the other that by reason of the marvellous fury of the hurricane it would have been altogether impossible to follow at all the line indicated. We were only in fact able to dart out from under shelter of the rock and peer down into the misty depths for a few seconds at a time, for the gale took our breath away as completely as in the“cavern of the winds”at Niagara. To have climbed down a new and difficult rock cliff in the face of the numbing cold would have been little short of suicidal.[pg 163]Descent down Vallée BlancheIt is Artemus Ward, I think, who describes the ingenious manner in which Baron Trenck, of prison-breaking fame, escaped on one occasion from durance vile. For fifteen long years the Baron had lain immured, and had tried in vain to carry out all the sensational methods of escape ever suggesting themselves to his fertile brain. At last an idea occurred to him. He opened the door and walked out. By an intellectual effort of almost equal brilliancy and originality we solved the difficulty that beset us: we turned towards the south-east and walked quietly down the slope for a hundred feet or so. Simplicity of thought is characteristic of great minds. Why, nevertheless, it had not occurred to us before to escape by this line I can no more explain than I can give the reason why all the ladies in a concert-room smile, as one woman, when a singer of their own sex makes her appearance on the platform, or why itinerant harp players always wear tall hats. Immediately the complexion of affairs brightened up. The wind was much less furious than it had been on the ridge, and the hail was replaced by snow. Jaun now gave it as his opinion that the best line of descent would consist in crossing round the head of the Vallée Blanche and the upper slopes of the Glacier du Géant, so as to join the ordinary route leading from the Col du Géant to the Montanvert. But in the thick mist it would have been far from easy to hit off the right track, and we[pg 164]thought it possible to make a short cut to the same end, and to find a way directly down the Vallée Blanche towards the rocks known as the Petit Rognon. We had no compass with us, but the direction of the slope indicated the proper line of descent to follow. In most years it would not be easy to discover the way through the complicated crevasses of the ice-fall situated between the“Rognon”and the easterly rocks of the Aiguille du Midi; but in 18— so much snow had fallen early in the spring and so little had melted during the summer, that we experienced comparatively little difficulty in descending almost in a straight line. During this part of the expedition the good qualities of our guides showed once more to advantage. Unquestionably while on the ridge they had put forward suggestions which were rather wild in character, and which were proved now to be mistaken. The intense cold and the beating of the storm seemed rather to have paralysed their usually calm judgment, and it is an odd fact that guides, even when first rate, are oftentimes more affected by such conditions than are the amateurs whom they conduct. We could no more, with such experience as we possessed, have led the way aright as our leader did with unerring sagacity, than an untutored person could write out a full orchestra score. We could only insist on a given line being taken if in their judgment it were possible. Once fairly started, we felt that we[pg 165]must push our plan through, employing the same form of argument as the man did in support of a bold statement that a certain beaver, closely pursued by a dog, had climbed up a tree. It was not a question now whether we could do it, or could not do it; we had to do it. The day was far spent, there was possibly much difficult work before us, and the exertion already undergone had been tolerably severe. The temptation was therefore great rather to scamp the work of finding the best and safest track through the ice-fall, but our leader displayed as much care and thoroughness as if he were strolling over snow slopes with a critical Chamouni guide behind him. A momentary glimpse of the familiar form of the Aiguille du Géant right in front of us confirmed the judgment that we were on the right track. In descending the ice-fall we passed to the right of the Petit Rognon, and at the base of the Séracs halted and thought we would have something to eat. Maurer produced our stock of provisions, which consisted of one roll studded with little bits of broken glass and reduced by the action of wine and water to the consistence of a poultice. The refection was, therefore, as unsatisfactory as a meal out of a loosely tied nosebag to a cab horse. And now for another departure from time-honoured custom. All mountain narratives at this period of the day make reference to the use of tobacco, the well-earned pipe, and so forth. But the sleety rain,[pg 166]which for the last hour and a half had replaced the snow, had soaked everything so thoroughly that an attempt to carry out the orthodox proceeding did not, like most failures, end in smoke. So we trudged on again empty and unsolaced.A scanty repastAs the shades of night were falling, four dripping and woe-begone travellers might, to borrow the novelist’s common mode of expression, have been observed toiling up the steep path towards the old Montanvert hotel—that is, they might have been observed by anybody who was foolish enough to be out of doors on such a detestable evening. We entered the familiar little room, an ingenious compound of a toyshop and a barrack, and notwithstanding that we were viewed with marked disfavour by the other guests therein assembled in consequence of our moist and steamy condition, we seated ourselves and called for refreshment. The atmosphere in the stuffy den called the salon was a trifle pungent, and having contributed a little additional dampness to the apartment we set off again. That familiar old room with its odd collection of curiosities, in which the fare was on the whole more disproportionate to the price than at any other institution of a similar kind in the mountains, has ceased to exist long ago. I fancy that it did not require much pulling down. It is happily replaced now by one of the best managed and most comfortable mountain hotels to be found in the Alps, a sure sign[pg 167]of which attraction is to be found in the fact that it is, at any rate, spoken of with disfavour by the inhabitants of the village below or by such as do not hold shares. Another hour’s descent and we passed through the few scattered houses just outside Chamouni. The attractions on the way down had not diverted us from our stern purpose of reaching Couttet’s hotel as soon as possible. We had politely declined the invitation of a perennially knitting young woman to view a live chamois. The spasmodic smile called up by each approaching tourist faded from her countenance as we passed by. Four times did we decline the gentle refreshment oflimonade gazeuse, once did we sternly refuse to partake of strawberries, and twice to purchase crystals. It was dark as we neared the town; it may have been my fancy, but I cannot help thinking that I perceived our old friend the blind beggar with the lugubrious expression which he wore when on duty, and with the tall hat which served the purpose of an alms’-box, and which he did not wear when on duty, enjoying himself in a very merry manner by the side of a blazing fire. Notwithstanding that night had fallen there was still a little group by the bridge round the one-armed telescope man, anxiously crowding to hear the last news of the two insane Englishmen who had without doubt perished that day miserably on the rocks of the Midi. A project had already been started to organise an expedition on the morrow to search for the bodies; and[pg 168]we might very possibly, if we had cared for the excitement, have been allowed to join the party.A projected expeditionAs in a play the most striking situation is by the discreet author reserved to the conclusion, so in this contradictory chapter the most glaring deficiency comes now at the end. My readers, if they have generously followed me so far, will recognise that we not only went on something of a fool’s errand, incurring considerable difficulty and perhaps risk in that mission, but that we never got up the mountain at all. The force of contradictoriness can no further go. Still, it may be pointed out that we did actually accomplish all that was novel in the expedition. Once on the ridge, the remaining portion of the climb is, in fine weather, easy and well known, so the fact that the Aiguille du Midi can be ascended by this line by any one consumed with an ambition to do so, is beyond doubt. We were not probably at one point more than twenty minutes or half an hour from the actual summit. I cannot honestly advise anybody to follow our tracks; but in all probability, if someone should desire to do so, he need not, under favourable conditions, contemplate meeting with any unsurmountable difficulties.The Aiguille du Dru from the SouthTHE AIGUILLE DU DRUFROM THE SOUTH

[pg 130]CHAPTER V.AN OLD FRIEND WITH A NEW FACEChamouni again—The hotelclientèle—A youthful hero—The inevitable English family—A scientific gentleman—A dream of the future—The hereafter of the Alps and of Alpine literature—A condensed mountain ascent—Wanted, a programme—A double“Brocken”—A hill-side phenomenon and a familiar character—A strong argument—Halting doubts and fears—A digression on mountaineering accidents—“From gay to grave, from lively to severe”—The storm breaks—A battle with the elements—Beating the air—The ridge carried by assault—What next, and next?—A topographical problem and a cool proposal—The descent down the Vallée Blanche—The old Montanvert hotel—The Montanvert path and its frequenters.It was the summer of 18— and our old quarters at Couttet’s hotel knew us once more. As we drove into the village of Chamouni we turned our heads carelessly around to note the various new hotels that might have arisen since our last visit. Observing that they were four or five in number, we rightly conjectured that we should find all the hotel keepers complaining bitterly of the hard times and the want of custom. Also we wondered in how many ways it was possible to build a house without any particular system of drainage, a deficiency which was at that time becom[pg 131]ing very marked in Chamouni, but has since, I believe, been improved. Yet the place itself had not altered essentially. New buildings of imposing exterior and little else do not materially alter a place that leads a life like that of modern Chamouni. The population, which throughout the summer appears to pass its time in the streets with its hands in its pockets, was still amusing itself in the same way. The tone of the village was just the same as we had always known it, and even M. Couttet himself had not succeeded in imparting any marine flavour by building an odd little lighthouse with an iron flag on the top which the architect had ingeniously represented as streaming permanently in a direction indicating a wind favourable for fine weather. We knew that we should find the same denizens in the hotel; and they were there.A youthful heroThere was a very young man with a very parti-coloured face from exposure on the glaciers, who had recently completed the thousand-and-first ascent of Mont Blanc and was perpetually posing gracefully against the door-post or in a lattice-work summer-house a few steps from the hotel, gazing towards the mountain and rather eagerly joining in any conversation relating to the perils of the ascent. There were three or four young ladies of various periods of life who gazed at him with admiration and enquired at intervals if he wasn’t very tired; to which the young man replied carelessly that he was not, and inwardly thought[pg 132]that the discomfort of sunburn and the consequent desquamation was on the whole cheaply bought, the while he wished the expedition had not cost so much and that so many others had not thought of making the same ascent. And then there came a lithe, active lady walker who had been up Mont Blanc and a great many other mountains too, and paid no more attention to the guides’ stereotyped compliments than a suspicious dog does to those of a nervous visitor: so the young man’s nose was put out of joint and he would have laughed scornfully at the fickleness of hero worship had not the skin of his face been in danger of cracking, and he wished his shirt collar had not been starched and thumped by the village washerwoman into the form of a circular linen saw.A scientific gentlemanThen there was an excitable Englishman of impulsive habits, with a large family who were perpetually playing a game of follow-my-leader with their parent, and who were under orders to weigh anchor on the following morning at five o’clock for the Montanvert and the Mauvais Pas. The boys were stoking up for the occasion with raw apples, and the girls were occupied, when not pursuing their restless father, in preparing a puggaree for his hat. There was a gentleman who affected the curious untidiness of raiment not unfrequently noticed among Sunday frequenters of the Thames, and who sought to establish a mountaineering reputation by constantly gazing at the peaks[pg 133]around in a knowing manner and wearing a flannel shirt of an obtrusive pattern destitute of any collar. There were guides about, who were on the point of being paid for their services and who were exceedingly polite and obsequious; others whose“tour”had just passed, were, proportionately, less deferential. There was an elderly lady whose whole soul appeared bent on a little stocking from which she never parted, and who turned the knitting needles to more account for toilet and other small purposes than I could have conceived to be possible. There were two or three mountaineers who appeared anxious only to avoid everyone’s gaze and who might be seen in byways and odd corners talking to bronzed guides who looked like business. Finally, there was a gentleman of statistical and scientific tendencies, much given to making quietly astonishing statements of astronomical facts and gently smiling as he rolled over his tongue and enjoyed the flavour of the vast numbers with which it was his pleasure to deal. He absolutely revelled and wallowed in figures. Buttonholed in a corner and compelled to listen with deferential attention, I secretly writhed as he crushed me slowly with the mere weight of his numerals. He shared with others of his frame of mind the peculiarity of always keeping something in hand and skilfully working up to a climax. Such and such a star was so many millions of miles off. We opened our eyes to the proper degree of width and[pg 134]observed,“Bless me!”or,“You don’t say so?”Instantly he would rejoin,“Ah, but that’s nothing to so and so,”and then favoured us with a still more immeasurable distance. We expressed a slightly greater degree of intelligent amazement. Thereupon he nodded his head, gently inclined it a little to one side, and smiled softly. It gave him such evident pleasure to have a listener that I attended with due reverence to his enthusiastic computations; knowing my man, I felt sure that he was keeping back a real staggerer to finish up with, and was prepared to assume varying degrees of surprise up to the moment when it should come. Unfortunately I misjudged its advent, and feeling that I had somewhat lost in his estimation by evincing undue astonishment at a comparatively small array of figures, I sought to turn the conversation by requesting to know how long he thought it might be before the great rock peaks around us would have crumbled away to their bases. The calculation was too trivial and the number of millions of generations too small to interest him much, but he vouchsafed an approximate estimate.A dream of the futureI let him babble on and fell a-thinking. The peaks were crumbling away bit by bit no doubt, the glaciers shrinking. At a bound the mind leapt into a future which, after all, might be not so very unlike a past. The Alps things of the past! What, I wondered, when the mountains were all levelled down and[pg 135]smiling valleys occupied the troughs of the glaciers of to-day, would some future commentators make of the literature so industriously piled up by the members and followers of the Alpine Club? Imagination ran riot as in a dream, and I fancied some enthusiast exploring the buried city of the second Babylon and excavating the ruins of the“finest site in Europe.”I pictured to myself the surprise in store for him on digging out the effigies of some of our naval and military heroes, and the mingled feelings with which he would contemplate the unearthed statue of George IV. It seemed possible that in that far-off epoch to which my friend’s calculations had borne me, the Alpine Club itself might have ceased to exist. Pursuing his explorations in an easterly direction, the excavator might perchance have lighted on a strange tunnel, almost Arcadian in its simplicity of design, and marvelled at the curious and cheap idols of wax and wood which the people of that ancient day had evidently worshipped. Turning north again, this Schliemann of the future would pass by the ruins of S. Martin’s Church, eager to light upon the precious archives of the historic Alpine Club itself. How eagerly he would peruse the lore contained in the Club library, anxious to decipher the inscriptions and discover what manner of men they were who lived and climbed when mountains and glaciers were still to be found on this planet. Human nature would[pg 136]probably not have changed much, and the successful explorer might even have been asked to favour a scientific society of the future with the result of his discoveries, to which in all probability he would have acceded, with a degree of reluctance not quite sufficient to deter the secretary of the society from pressing him.A condensed mountain ascentAn abstract of his description of our sibylline leaves I fancied might run somewhat in this style:—After commenting on the fact that the maps and illustrations did not usually correspond in number with the list set forth in the index of the volumes unearthed, he might proceed thus:—“In pursuit of their great and glorious object these ancient heroes appear to have undergone vast personal discomfort. It is difficult therefore to realise fully why so many engaged in this form of exploration. Instances have been given by other learned antiquarians who have studied the habits of this people, of a similar purposeless disregard of comfort, such as the four-wheeled wooden boxes in which they travelled about, the seats in their churches, &c. The outset of their expedition was almost invariably characterised by a display of bad temper, attributed to early rising. After a varying number of hours of excessive toil the travellers were wont to arrive at some fearsome chasm spoken of as a‘bergschrund.’On this, if the subject-matter of their narrative was insufficient in[pg 137]quantity, they were wont to descant and enlarge at length; sometimes, as we judge, in their descriptions they enlarged the bergschrund itself. They then crossed it. Immediately after this incident they were in the habit of eating, and the minute and instructive details commonly given enable us to form a tolerably accurate opinion as to the nature of the diet with which they supported their exhausted frames. Next they traversed strange localities for which there appear to have been no adequately descriptive expressions in their own language. In fact the difficulty of deciphering these records is greatly increased by the fact that the writers were versatile linguists, for they constantly make use of words of a hybrid character. They were evidently practised meteorologists and took much interest in this subject, as may be gathered throughout from their writings. At length they reached summits, of the nature of which we in our time can have but a feeble conception. So great was their relief at the termination of their self-imposed but toilsome task, that they habitually burst forth into language characterised by a wealth of imagery and a fervour of poetic description which unfortunately conveys but little idea to us in our day of what they actually saw. In descending they were all commonly within an ace of meeting with a violent death. The mode in which the danger attacked them varied within certain restricted limits, but it always[pg 138]occurred and the escape was always narrow. The peril over, they remarked that they breathed freely again, and then at once fell to eating. Arrived at a successful termination of their wearisome labour, they advised others to do the same. They dealt out unsparing satire to their companions, unlimited praise to their guides, and unmeasured ridicule to their porter. They commonly expressed throughout their descriptions grave doubts and uncertainty as to the issue of the expedition: a curious and noteworthy fact, for the heading of the accounts always divulged at the outset their ultimate success. The construction, therefore, of their narratives was in accordance with a well-recognised model and appeared capable of little variation. The only other facts that we can glean are that they were prodigious eaters, were much pestered by some extinct species of insects, and that they make frequent allusions to a substance termed tobacco. The constant repetition of these incidents stamps upon their writings the impress of unexaggerated veracity. Still they were not universally held in favour, indeed were regarded with disapprobation by some individuals of their own race. It would seem indeed from internal evidence that, had it not been for frequent and sharp criticism of their proceedings, their pastime might never have inveigled so many persons with its seductive fascination.”Now at the time at which these prophetic fancies[pg 139]were conjured up we had just completed an expedition which it seemed might be worthy of attention, solely on the ground of its very contradictoriness. For the features of this climb were most opposed to those already mentioned, and in fact mention of it scarcely seemed admissible in an Alpine narrative. We took no porter with us to fill the rôle of first low comedy man. We had very little to eat; our stock of wine ran out through a leaky gourd; our tobacco was wet and there was no bergschrund, and yet all this happened on a mountain close to Chamouni.Wanted, a programme“Some vast amount of years ago, ere all my youth had vanished from me,”as the poet says, at a date therefore which for obvious reasons it is inexpedient here to mention, I found myself, as already mentioned, at Chamouni. With me was an old mountain friend and fellow climber, J. Oakley Maund. We were both burning with desire to add to the list of the many successful expeditions we had made together, but, as a matter of fact, were somewhat gravelled for lack of suitable matter. Like a ministry on the eve of a general election or a gentleman without a sixpenny-piece at a theatre, we were sorely in need of a programme. The locality was somewhat unfortunately chosen for those in whom the ancient spirit was not yet quite extinct and who wanted to do something new. Ever since the days when Jacques Balmat, Dr. Paccard, and the great De Saussure had donned strange apparel[pg 140]and shown the way—that is to say, for nearly a hundred years—people had been climbing mountains in the district, and it was not to be wondered at if it were hard to find some expedition which nobody else had thought of, or, worse still, had achieved. We gazed at the map and made thumb marks all over it. In every conceivable direction ran little lines indicative of previous explorations. We studied thecarte en relief, but without much hope of getting any information of value from this inaccurate and lumpy absurdity. Mont Blanc, which, according to this work of plastic art, was modelled out as some eight or ten thousand feet higher than any other point of the chain, had had all the snow worn off its summit by much fingering, so that the component pasteboard showed through. Rivers ran uphill in this map, and lakes were inclined at an angle; bits of sticking plaister represented towns and villages, and the whole article was absolutely bristling with little spikes and points like the old panoramas of London or the docks at Liverpool. Still a considerable number of people seemed willing enough to pay fifty centimes for the pleasure of indicating elaborate expeditions on it with their fore-fingers, and appeared to derive pleasure from gazing on a pasteboard misrepresentation when they could by looking out of window see the real thing for nothing. We abandoned thecarte en reliefand took Jaun and Kaspar Maurer into our confidence. The[pg 141]only suggestions that they could make were the Aiguille des Charmoz and the Dent du Géant. The former of these two peaks we had both tried to ascend in former seasons, without success. Jaun did not think then that it was possible, and without sharing his opinion we gave way to it. With regard to the latter mountain we all thought at the time that an undue amount of what is vaguely termed“artificial aid”would be necessary to ensure success, an opinion confirmed by subsequent events, for when Signor Sella achieved the honour of the first ascent he was only able to accomplish it by somewhat elaborate engineering appliances. Some bold person of an original turn of thought suggested of course a variation of some way up Mont Blanc, but the utter impossibility of discovering the slightest deviation from any previously ascended route and the utter uselessness of trying to find one caused a general shout of derision, and the bold person thereupon withdrew his suggestion and ordered some coffee. Besides, the weather was fine; every day swarms of tourists could be seen, crawling up the sides of the monarch of mountains, in numbers as many as the flies on a sugar loaf in a grocer’s window on a hot day.One evening we sat in front of Couttet’s hotel staring pensively at the familiar outline of the row of aiguilles, and wishing we had lived in the days of Albert Smith, the best friend Chamouni ever had.[pg 142]At any rate, at that time the natives were unsophisticated and the mountains about were not all done to death. The valley between us and the chain was filled with a light haze, not sufficient to conceal the outline of the mountains but yet enough to blot out their detail and solidity. As the moon rose behind the chain we saw a strange phenomenon. A silhouette was thrown forwards on to the curtain of haze and photographed on it with sharp and clear definition, so that we could recognise, at an immense height, the shadowed peaks looking almost as massive as the actual mountains. Nor was this all; a second curtain of mist seemed to be suspended, in a vertical stratum, in front of the former one, and the shadows were again marked out on this, infinitely more magnified and less distinct, but still perfectly recognisable. As a result we were able to see the semblance of three distinct tiers of mountains one above the other, looking so massive that we could scarcely realise that they were but transparent ghosts of the peaks; and the phenomenon, a double“Brocken,”must have lasted for more than half an hour. However, we desired something more of the nature of the substance than the shadow, and ultimately came to the conclusion that it was absolutely necessary for our peace of mind to accomplish something on the morrow, and as it really mattered but little what that something might be, provided a good climb was afforded, we must yield[pg 143]to circumstances and perforce adopt the latter-day necessity of all mountaineers. If we could not find the right way up some new mountain we could at least take the wrong way up an old one.The Aiguille du MidiSo the next morning we walked up to the Pierre Pointue as a preliminary step—a good many and rather arduous steps—towards the object in view. The exertion of toiling up the zigzags or the more rarefied atmosphere had a remarkable effect on one of the party, whose face when we reached the chalet was found to be wreathed in smiles and wearing an expression of great intelligence. He had in fact become possessed of an idea. Bubbling over with self-satisfied chuckles, he suggested that we should ascend the Aiguille du Midi by the face directly in front of us and then descend on the other side, thus making a col of the mountain. The idea found favour instantly, and the intelligent person was so much pleased that he ordered a bottle of wine, plastered over with a very costly variety of label, and regretted it. Investigation of the cellar revealed only two casks of wine, but the“carte”comprised a long list of various vintages. Fired with enthusiasm and inflated withlimonade gazeuse, we left the chalet and strode vigorously up the hill in order to prospect the route and reconnoitre the rocks. The exertion and the pace soon told upon us, the sooner that it was a hot, enervating day; the kind of day that makes one perforce admire the[pg 144]ingenious benevolence of nature in fashioning out on the grassy slopes rounded inequalities, exactly adapted to those of the human figure in a seated or recumbent position. The heated air rising from the ground gave flickering and distorted views of distant objects, like unto marine phenomena viewed through the cheap panes of a seaside lodging-house window. The grasshoppers were extraordinarily busy; the bees droned through the heavy air; the ants, overcome apparently by the temperature, had given up for the time straining their jaws by their foolish practice of carrying large parcels about without any definite object, and had retired to the shady seclusion of their own heaped-up residences; the turf was most inviting. It now occurred to us that there was no absolute necessity for the whole party to ascend on the present occasion, and that perhaps the guides might go up quicker alone. The details of this suggestion were acceded to on the part of the amateurs of the party with astonishing alacrity and unanimity. We laid the scheme before the guides, and they also thought it a very fine one. Thereupon, with much parade and ceremony, they braced themselves up for great exertion, borrowed the telescope, remarked that they expected to be back some time during the night, and started upwards with somewhat over-acted eagerness. My companion and I disposed ourselves comfortably in the shade, and resumed an argument which had[pg 145]originally commenced some days previously. I waxed eloquent on the subject under discussion and with much success, for such was the force of my logic and the cogency of my reasoning that I bore down on my opponent, and reduced him in a short time to absolute silence, from which he did not awake for nearly two hours.Ephemeral acquaintancesAbout this time the guides, who in all probability had also been comfortably asleep within a short distance of us, returned and gave a favourable report concerning the mountain. Elated by this news, we climbed a short distance further up, and met there a large party of ephemeral acquaintances who were taking an afternoon’s pleasure on the hills. After the manner of people when so engaged, they set forth with great energy and climbed up a steep little rock tump a few hundred yards distant. Arrived at the summit, they roared out unintelligible remarks to us, and we did the same to them till we were hoarse; we waved our hands and hats and they flourished their handkerchiefs as if they were our dearest friends on earth, just setting out on an emigrant ship for the Antipodes. The party then descended; the nearer they came the less friendly and demonstrative were we, and by the time we met the warmth of affection recently manifested on both sides had wholly evaporated, and we conversed in ordinary tones on indifferent topics. Then they set out for another little hill,[pg 146]and we were moved, apparently by some uncontrollable impulse, to go through the same idiotic performance. Emotional behaviour of a similar kind is not infrequently observed in the mountains. We journeyed together back to the Pierre Pointue, viewing each other with distrust and suspicion; and when it was found that we had bespoken the beds—if the exaggerated packing-cases lined with straw bags could be considered such—we parted on terms the reverse of friendly. So frail are the links that bind human affections.A familiar characterStanding in front of the hut was a type of character very familiar in these tourist-frequented districts. His exterior was unpromising; his beard of a fortnight’s growth, or thereabouts, somewhat fitful withal and lacking in uniformity of development. A hard hat, with a shining green veil folded around its battered outline, decorated his head; his raiment was black and rusty, his legs cased in canvas gaiters fastened with many little girths and buckles, and in his right hand he grasped a trusty three-franc pole made of wainy deal, and surmounted at the top by a brown knob similar to those which come out suddenly when we try to open a chest of drawers in a cheap lodging. He fidgeted about for a while, asked questions in a rather loud tone of voice at us, and we felt that it was his intention to enter into conversation. It was even so. After a while he sidled up and[pg 147]requested with much diffidence to be informed what we proposed to climb on the morrow. Now the true mountaineer, however amiable his disposition, always shrinks up into his shell when such a question is put to him on the eve of an expedition. My companion indicated by a sweep of the arm a space of territory extending about from the Mont Buet on the one side round to the Aiguille de Gouté on the other. Our friend surveyed from end to end the extensive panorama suggested, then looked seriously at us and observed that we should probably find it a fine walk. We expressed gravely the opinion that he was quite right, and then went in to dinner, while our composite friend expatiated on the project to his companions as an expedition but little out of the ordinary run, and one that he was perfectly prepared to undertake himself if so disposed; then he resumed his contemplation of a rock some ninety feet or so in height jutting out through the glacier above, which he was under the impression was a lady descending from Mont Blanc. We did not learn his name, but the individual may, nevertheless, possibly be recognised. Some points of the argument were still unsettled when we climbed over the edges of our respective boxes and vanished into the strawy depths below. The clear moonlight streamed in through the window and prevented sleep; so I lay in my wooden box thinking over the recent discussion, but with such a distinct intention—[pg 148]like little Paul Dombey with Mrs. Pipchin—of fixing my companion presently, that even that hardy old mountaineer deemed it prudent to counterfeit slumber.In the small hours of the morning we got under weigh. For some time we had been leading a life of sloth in Chamouni, and the delight of finding ourselves once more on the mountain path, and making for a rock climb, entirely precluded that fractiousness which, as all readers of Alpine literature know, ought properly to be described at this period of an expedition. The path was irregular and demanded some equanimity, for the stumbling-blocks were innumerable and artfully placed to trip up the unwary in an aggravating manner. Feeling it unfair that all the work should be thrown on the guides, I had volunteered, rather magnanimously, to bear part of the burden, and selected the lantern as my share. By this means it was not only possible to walk in comfort over a well-lighted track, but the bearer was enabled also to regulate the pace to a speed convenient to his own feelings. Before long, however, we reached the lower snow patches of the Glacier des Pélèrins, and the light was no longer necessary.Halting doubts and fearsWe made straight across the crisp snow to the base of a promising-looking rock buttress lying to the right of the snow gully that runs up the side of the mountain, feeling sure that either by the rocks or the snow a[pg 149]way up could be found. And now I am painfully conscious of a glaring defect in this Alpine narrative. A mountain ascent without a bergschrund is as tame as a steeplechase without a water jump, but candour compels the admission that no bergschrund was visible. Either we had hit on a spot where the orthodox chasm was filled up for the time, or else this particular glacier was an exception to all others previously treated of in mountain literature. In a few seconds we found ourselves on the rocks, delighted to exchange the monotonous mode of progression compulsory on snow for the varied gymnastic exercises demanded on rocks. The sun had risen, the axes clanked merrily against the stones, the snow was in good condition for walking, everything seemed favourable, and we gazed down complacently on the distance already traversed. Above us the mountain was broken up and easy, and we climbed on rapidly, each in the fashion that seemed best to him. So good was our progress at first, that we were already far up the buttress, and could barely see our morning’s tracks in the snow beneath, when a halt was called for breakfast, and we had time to look around. Now, however unconventional this expedition may have been in many respects, the sagacious student of Alpine literature will know that it must be wholly impossible to omit all reference to the weather. As soon might one expect two prosaic persons of slight acquaintanceship to abjure the topic at a chance[pg 150]meeting. The western sky wore a rather ominous look of half mourning, and heavy grey and black clouds were whirling about and forming up in close order in a manner suggestive of rising wind. Even at this stage of the proceedings the thought crossed our minds that the storm which was evidently brewing might possibly overtake us, and that perhaps we ought at once to turn back.The storm gathersOne thing was evident; that we must decide quickly, whatever we did. We determined to push on for a while, and with that intent girded ourselves with the rope and worked our way on to the top of the first buttress. At this point, further progress directly upwards was impossible, and we were compelled to cross the gully and make for the rock on the left-hand side. Considerable care is always necessary in crossing, horizontally, a gully filled with snow, where the rope is rather a source of danger than of security. We had to give all our attention to the passage, and when we reached the rocks opposite, the climbing, though not formidable, was still sufficiently difficult to occupy all our thoughts for the moment, and we had but little leisure, and perhaps but little inclination, for meteorological observations. At the top of the rocks a promising snow slope, stretching upwards with gentle curves and sweeps, seemed to offer a fair prospect of rapid progress. Such snow slopes are at all times a little[pg 151]deceptive. Even when the climber is close to them they look oftentimes much easier than they immediately after prove to be. From a distance, say from under the verandah of a comfortable hotel, when the climberin posseindicates the way he would pursue with the end of his cigar, they are absurdly easy. So, too, are obstacles in the hunting-field, such as stiff hedges and uncompromising gates, easy enough when the Nimrod studies them as he whirls along in an express train. Subsequently, when immediately associated with a horse, these same obstacles assume a different guise. Then are the sentiments of the hunter prone to become modified, and compassion for dumb beasts becomes more prominent in thethoughtfulvotary of the chase, till finally it may be observed that the little wits jump sometimes more than the great ones. Even so does the mountaineer often discover, on a nearer acquaintance that the snow incline up which he proposed to stride merrily is inclined at a highly inconvenient angle. However, at the commencement of our slope we found the snow in good condition, and advanced quickly for some little distance, but before we had got very far it was necessary to resort to the axe, and we had then ample opportunities of looking round. The clouds were lowering more and more, but as they were swept up by a sou’westerly wind, the intervening mass of the mountain prevented us from seeing thoroughly what might be in store for us.[pg 152]The wind, too, was growing stronger every minute, and my companion, who was still pursuing his argument, and, as it appeared subsequently, making some rather good points, had to exert himself considerably in order to make his voice heard.Presently we halted for a few minutes on some spiky little rocks, and again looked about. The weather prospects were just in that doubtful state that prompts every member of the party to ask the others what they think. Maurer looked exceedingly vacant and made no remark. Jaun put a bit of snow in his mouth, but declined to give an opinion. We, not to be outdone, assumed very profound expressions, as if prepared to find ourselves in the right whatever happened, but, following the example of Lord Burleigh in the famous tragedy, we said nothing either. At last, some one suggested that we might go on for a little, and then see. Accordingly we went on for a little, but then as a matter of fact the mists swept up around us and we did not see anything at all. It was, no doubt, inconvenient that we were unable to penetrate with our gaze to the regions above, but still we felt that there was one slight counterbalancing advantage, for there was present the haunting consciousness that the gigantic telescope of Chamouni was pointed in our direction, and at least the enveloping mist ensured that privacy which is not always accorded to climbers pursuing their pastime within range of these instruments of science.[pg 153]“From gay to grave”In the hope that the condition of the upper snow might be good, and perhaps rather mistaken in the height we had already reached, we made up our minds to push on, with the view of reaching at any rate the top of the ridge before the storm broke. Every now and again a rent in the clouds above, lasting for a few seconds, showed us that the wind was blowing with great force, as thin clouds of loose snow were swept up and whirled along the face in curling wreaths. The spectacle might not, at first sight, have been thought highly diverting: yet as we pointed upwards to the ridge and watched the racing snow-drifts driving over the slopes we were making for, we all laughed very heartily. So universal is the tendency to be amused at the sight of discomfort that it even extends to the contemplation of its occurring shortly to oneself. In the paulo-post-future the experience is exhilarating: in the actual present it is less laughter-moving. Laughter in the presence of events that are, in the true sense of the word, sensational, comes almost as a reflex action (to borrow an expression from the physiologists), and the sympathetic distress that follows takes an appreciable time to develop. I can recall once being a witness with some others of a ghastly accident by which several people were precipitated, together with a mass of broken timbers and débris of all sorts, from a great height. A door was burst open and the ruin met our eyes suddenly. To this day I can[pg 154]remember sounds of laughter at the first view—hysterical if you like to call it so, and not mirthful, but still laughter. In a few seconds the realisation of what had happened came, and then came the distress and with it expressions of horror, as all worked manfully to help and rescue the sufferers. The sequence of emotions was perfectly natural, and only they who have never passed through such an experience would speak of inhumanity. There is no want of humanity in the matter. The suddenness of the impression begets the train of emotions, and the brain grasps the facts but slowly. To take another instance: I have been told by a man whose quickness and presence of mind were remarkable—a man who as a schoolboy won a Royal Humane Society’s medal—that on one occasion he witnessed a friend fall over a staircase from a great height. The accident was in the highest degree unexpected: and the witness walked leisurely on as if nothing had happened. But in a few seconds came like a severe blow the sudden realisation of what had taken place. Thought is not always quick. We can no more exert our minds to their fullest capacity on a sudden than we can put forth our utmost physical strength on a sudden. Action when almost instantaneous is independent of the higher mental faculties, and is but a reflex. The experience of those who have been in railway accidents will be of the same nature. In climbing up a very steep or difficult place[pg 155]if a man falls all are prepared more or less for such an accident. The whole attention is given to guarding against a probable contingency, and it follows that the mind can instantly realise its occurrence. And that such is the case I have been unlucky enough to witness, though most fortunately the fall was attended with no serious consequences. On the same principle, to take a more trivial example, on difficult rocks it is the rarest possible accident for a man to sprain his ankle or knee. The muscles are always prepared for a possible slip and kept in tension on the alert. On the loose moraine, when walking leisurely or carelessly, such an accident is a thousand times more likely to occur.The storm breaksOur leader worked away with a will, but the snow got harder at every step. The growing force of the wind, which in nautical language had increased from that vague degree known as a capful to the indefinite force of a stiff breeze, and the increasing steepness of the slope, compelled Jaun to make the steps larger and larger as we ascended. It soon became evident that the storm would overtake us long before we could hope to get on to the ridge, and that we had deliberately walked into something of a trap. The steps had been cut so far apart that to descend by the same line would have involved the construction of a fresh staircase, and on actually turning, we found that what was a stiff breeze behind us was a half gale when it met our faces. It was certainly easier to go on[pg 156]than to go back; so we went further and fared much worse. The slope became steeper, the ice harder, the half gale became a whole gale, and the delay between each step seemed interminable. Suddenly, as we passed from under the lee of a projecting slope on our right, a tremendous gust of wind, which seemed to have waited for a few moments in order to collect its full forces, swept suddenly down and almost tore us from our foothold. With that a torrent of hail fell, and for a few moments we had enough to do to hold on where we stood. Even my companion’s conversation slackened. He had astutely selected a place in the caravan immediately behind me, and as the gale was blowing directly on our backs was enabled to fire off his remarks and arguments without any possibility of response. Anything that I said in answer was audible only to our leader, who took not the smallest interest in the discussion. Unfortunately, too, it was difficult to listen with any attention; for as the gusts came on we were forced to swing all our faces round like chimney cowls instantly in the same direction. The squalls became more frequent and more violent, the thunder and lightning played around merrily, and as the wind howled by we had to throw ourselves flat against the slope, adopting the undignified attitudes of a deer-stalker nearing the brow of a Scotch hill—attitudes which bring somewhat unduly into prominence the inadequate nature of the national costume.[pg 157]Fortunately, as has been said, we were screened from view; and our poses, though possibly ungraceful, were at any rate uncriticised. The big hailstones, falling softly around, filled up the steps as they were made, and our feet were buried up to the ankles in a moment. In a minute or two the hurricane passed for the time; then we arose, shook ourselves, smiled at nothing in particular, and the leader would find time during the comparative lull to hack out three or four fresh steps. Certain sounds, not accounted for by the elements, coming up from below, may have been suggestions or may have been arguments, but they were knocked out of all intelligible shape before they reached the head of the caravan. Not even the porter at Lloyd’s or the captain of a merchantman could have made himself audible in that cyclone. Upwards we went, fighting for each step and for each yard gained as hard as if we were storming a fortress. Even while the leader had his axe in the air ready to deliver a fresh blow a distant roar would betoken another onslaught, and we instantly fell flat down like tin soldiers struck with the well-directed pea, and disposed ourselves at a convenient angle of resistance; and so we went on, when we did go on at all. If the relation is wearisome it is also realistic, for we found that the actual experience was far from being lively; but all things must have an end, including even thefeuilletonin a Parisian newspaper or the walk up to[pg 158]the Bel Alp on a hot day, and the termination came almost unexpectedly.A battle with the elementsWe had got thoroughly tired of perpetually clinging on by the simple force of adhesion to the storm-swept slope, and felt almost inclined to give up the struggle against the elements and to go straight on trusting to chance. Maurer, below, wore the expression of frowning discontent best seen in amateur tenors singing a tender love ditty. Jaun had remarked half-a-dozen times that the very next squall would infallibly sweep us all away, and his cheerful prophetic utterances really seemed on the point of being fulfilled, when, almost suddenly, the snow seemed to vanish from under our feet, and we found ourselves on the summit of the ridge; at least directly above us no more ascent appeared to present. It was difficult to realise adequately the exact direction in which we were facing, but I suppose that as the ridge runs about north and south by the compass, we were facing a little south of east. This was an important matter to decide, as the mist was gathered thick around and the idea of descent had to be at once considered now that we had got to a position of some degree of definiteness. At our feet the snow slope fell away in a manner so distinct that we were without doubt really on the top of some portion of the ridge. The difficulty was to estimate how far to our right the summit of the Aiguille du Midi itself lay. However, we felt with relief the truth of[pg 159]somebody’s remark that we had at length succeeded in getting somewhere; so far, no doubt, matters were satisfactory. Howbeit, our pleasure was somewhat modified by the discovery that the gale blew with considerably more force on the south-east side than it did on the one by which we had ascended. We looked towards the south and endeavoured to gather our wits together to elucidate the geographical problem that presented. At the foot of the slope must lie the upper basin of the Vallée Blanche and the Glacier de Tacul; unfortunately there seemed to be a prodigious storm going on in that basin, and clouds of loose snow were whirling about in all directions. It was impossible to understand these winds; one might have thought that Æolus had just stepped out to attend a committee meeting of the gods, and that all his subordinates were having high jinks during his absence.Beating the airThe possibility of actually completing the ascent of the mountain seemed out of the question, and the hope that we might have crept under the shelter of the ridge to the final little rock cone of the Aiguille was literally thrown to the winds. Here again, therefore, this narrative is highly unconventional, for it is impossible to consult M. Roget’s“Thesaurus”and indulge with its aid in any grandiloquent description of the view from the summit, although my account has now reached the stage at[pg 160]which such word painting ought properly to be inserted. We turned to our right, the direction in which the peak lay, and walked some little way along the ridge till we got under shelter of a rock; now we were able once more to stand upright and, huddled together, took the opportunity which had been denied to us for some hours to interchange views. All agreed that the situation was vile; that word, at least, may be taken as the resultant of the various forcible epithets actually employed. All agreed that the cold was intense, the prospect doubtful, and the panoramanil. There was but one redeeming feature: extreme discomfort will reveal humour in those in whom that quality would not be expecteda priorito find a dwelling-place, and to each one of us the spectacle of his three wobegone companions seemed to afford, if not amusement, at least an inkling of complacency. Maurer removed the pack from his shoulders, and it was then perceived that our cup of misery was full, and our sole remaining bottle of wine completely empty. We had originally started with two, one white and one red, of an inferior and indigestible quality, but had left the white wine down below on the snow; we had previously drunk it. The other bottle had broken against some projecting rock in climbing up, and the resulting leakage had led to the formation of a very large circular red patch in the small of Maurer’s back, wherever that anatomical region might be[pg 161]situated in our squat and sturdy little guide. After muttering together in patois for a little while the guides seized their axes and suddenly commenced with great vigour to hack out a large hole in the ice. We fell to also, and for some few minutes all worked away with the best of good will; the splinters and little blocks of ice flew around under our blows, and before long we had excavated a flat basin capable of holding water. At the least, the exercise had the effect of warming us, and Maurer, who previously, from the effects of the cold, had been the colour of a congested alderman in the face, gradually assumed a more healthy hue. We now inquired what the object might be of preparing this cavern. Thereupon Jaun gave vent to the ingenious suggestion that we had better remain where we were and sleep in it. The idea seemed too likely to lead to permanent repose to be commendable, and we received his proposition, as befitted its nature, with some coolness, remarking that on the whole we should prefer to go home. This view led to further conversation; ultimately we descended a few feet on the south-east side and then made our way along the face of the slope in a south-westerly direction towards the hut on the Aiguille du Midi. The snow was soft, and we went on for some distance without difficulty, till we again reached the ridge on the south-west side of the Aiguille, having thus passed round the base of the final peak of the mountain, which consists of a[pg 162]comparatively small rocky cone jutting up from the main ridge. We were still of course a long way from the hut, but as in this situation we were much more sheltered, we took the opportunity to review the state of affairs and to consider our position, which for the moment, like that of the pocket of a lady’s ball dress, was indeterminate. What were we to do? As with the diners at“Prix fixe”restaurant, there were three courses for us: we might go down on one side, we might descend on the other side, or we might remain where we were. The latter alternative was as distasteful now as it had been just previously, and it was negatived decisively.“Very good,”said the guides;“if you won’t stay here we must go down that way,”and they pointed in a direction westerly by the compass. My companion and I were opposed to this plan for two reasons: one that the route would, if it led anywhere in particular, take us down to the Glacier des Bossons, where we did not want to go, the other that by reason of the marvellous fury of the hurricane it would have been altogether impossible to follow at all the line indicated. We were only in fact able to dart out from under shelter of the rock and peer down into the misty depths for a few seconds at a time, for the gale took our breath away as completely as in the“cavern of the winds”at Niagara. To have climbed down a new and difficult rock cliff in the face of the numbing cold would have been little short of suicidal.[pg 163]Descent down Vallée BlancheIt is Artemus Ward, I think, who describes the ingenious manner in which Baron Trenck, of prison-breaking fame, escaped on one occasion from durance vile. For fifteen long years the Baron had lain immured, and had tried in vain to carry out all the sensational methods of escape ever suggesting themselves to his fertile brain. At last an idea occurred to him. He opened the door and walked out. By an intellectual effort of almost equal brilliancy and originality we solved the difficulty that beset us: we turned towards the south-east and walked quietly down the slope for a hundred feet or so. Simplicity of thought is characteristic of great minds. Why, nevertheless, it had not occurred to us before to escape by this line I can no more explain than I can give the reason why all the ladies in a concert-room smile, as one woman, when a singer of their own sex makes her appearance on the platform, or why itinerant harp players always wear tall hats. Immediately the complexion of affairs brightened up. The wind was much less furious than it had been on the ridge, and the hail was replaced by snow. Jaun now gave it as his opinion that the best line of descent would consist in crossing round the head of the Vallée Blanche and the upper slopes of the Glacier du Géant, so as to join the ordinary route leading from the Col du Géant to the Montanvert. But in the thick mist it would have been far from easy to hit off the right track, and we[pg 164]thought it possible to make a short cut to the same end, and to find a way directly down the Vallée Blanche towards the rocks known as the Petit Rognon. We had no compass with us, but the direction of the slope indicated the proper line of descent to follow. In most years it would not be easy to discover the way through the complicated crevasses of the ice-fall situated between the“Rognon”and the easterly rocks of the Aiguille du Midi; but in 18— so much snow had fallen early in the spring and so little had melted during the summer, that we experienced comparatively little difficulty in descending almost in a straight line. During this part of the expedition the good qualities of our guides showed once more to advantage. Unquestionably while on the ridge they had put forward suggestions which were rather wild in character, and which were proved now to be mistaken. The intense cold and the beating of the storm seemed rather to have paralysed their usually calm judgment, and it is an odd fact that guides, even when first rate, are oftentimes more affected by such conditions than are the amateurs whom they conduct. We could no more, with such experience as we possessed, have led the way aright as our leader did with unerring sagacity, than an untutored person could write out a full orchestra score. We could only insist on a given line being taken if in their judgment it were possible. Once fairly started, we felt that we[pg 165]must push our plan through, employing the same form of argument as the man did in support of a bold statement that a certain beaver, closely pursued by a dog, had climbed up a tree. It was not a question now whether we could do it, or could not do it; we had to do it. The day was far spent, there was possibly much difficult work before us, and the exertion already undergone had been tolerably severe. The temptation was therefore great rather to scamp the work of finding the best and safest track through the ice-fall, but our leader displayed as much care and thoroughness as if he were strolling over snow slopes with a critical Chamouni guide behind him. A momentary glimpse of the familiar form of the Aiguille du Géant right in front of us confirmed the judgment that we were on the right track. In descending the ice-fall we passed to the right of the Petit Rognon, and at the base of the Séracs halted and thought we would have something to eat. Maurer produced our stock of provisions, which consisted of one roll studded with little bits of broken glass and reduced by the action of wine and water to the consistence of a poultice. The refection was, therefore, as unsatisfactory as a meal out of a loosely tied nosebag to a cab horse. And now for another departure from time-honoured custom. All mountain narratives at this period of the day make reference to the use of tobacco, the well-earned pipe, and so forth. But the sleety rain,[pg 166]which for the last hour and a half had replaced the snow, had soaked everything so thoroughly that an attempt to carry out the orthodox proceeding did not, like most failures, end in smoke. So we trudged on again empty and unsolaced.A scanty repastAs the shades of night were falling, four dripping and woe-begone travellers might, to borrow the novelist’s common mode of expression, have been observed toiling up the steep path towards the old Montanvert hotel—that is, they might have been observed by anybody who was foolish enough to be out of doors on such a detestable evening. We entered the familiar little room, an ingenious compound of a toyshop and a barrack, and notwithstanding that we were viewed with marked disfavour by the other guests therein assembled in consequence of our moist and steamy condition, we seated ourselves and called for refreshment. The atmosphere in the stuffy den called the salon was a trifle pungent, and having contributed a little additional dampness to the apartment we set off again. That familiar old room with its odd collection of curiosities, in which the fare was on the whole more disproportionate to the price than at any other institution of a similar kind in the mountains, has ceased to exist long ago. I fancy that it did not require much pulling down. It is happily replaced now by one of the best managed and most comfortable mountain hotels to be found in the Alps, a sure sign[pg 167]of which attraction is to be found in the fact that it is, at any rate, spoken of with disfavour by the inhabitants of the village below or by such as do not hold shares. Another hour’s descent and we passed through the few scattered houses just outside Chamouni. The attractions on the way down had not diverted us from our stern purpose of reaching Couttet’s hotel as soon as possible. We had politely declined the invitation of a perennially knitting young woman to view a live chamois. The spasmodic smile called up by each approaching tourist faded from her countenance as we passed by. Four times did we decline the gentle refreshment oflimonade gazeuse, once did we sternly refuse to partake of strawberries, and twice to purchase crystals. It was dark as we neared the town; it may have been my fancy, but I cannot help thinking that I perceived our old friend the blind beggar with the lugubrious expression which he wore when on duty, and with the tall hat which served the purpose of an alms’-box, and which he did not wear when on duty, enjoying himself in a very merry manner by the side of a blazing fire. Notwithstanding that night had fallen there was still a little group by the bridge round the one-armed telescope man, anxiously crowding to hear the last news of the two insane Englishmen who had without doubt perished that day miserably on the rocks of the Midi. A project had already been started to organise an expedition on the morrow to search for the bodies; and[pg 168]we might very possibly, if we had cared for the excitement, have been allowed to join the party.A projected expeditionAs in a play the most striking situation is by the discreet author reserved to the conclusion, so in this contradictory chapter the most glaring deficiency comes now at the end. My readers, if they have generously followed me so far, will recognise that we not only went on something of a fool’s errand, incurring considerable difficulty and perhaps risk in that mission, but that we never got up the mountain at all. The force of contradictoriness can no further go. Still, it may be pointed out that we did actually accomplish all that was novel in the expedition. Once on the ridge, the remaining portion of the climb is, in fine weather, easy and well known, so the fact that the Aiguille du Midi can be ascended by this line by any one consumed with an ambition to do so, is beyond doubt. We were not probably at one point more than twenty minutes or half an hour from the actual summit. I cannot honestly advise anybody to follow our tracks; but in all probability, if someone should desire to do so, he need not, under favourable conditions, contemplate meeting with any unsurmountable difficulties.The Aiguille du Dru from the SouthTHE AIGUILLE DU DRUFROM THE SOUTH

[pg 130]CHAPTER V.AN OLD FRIEND WITH A NEW FACEChamouni again—The hotelclientèle—A youthful hero—The inevitable English family—A scientific gentleman—A dream of the future—The hereafter of the Alps and of Alpine literature—A condensed mountain ascent—Wanted, a programme—A double“Brocken”—A hill-side phenomenon and a familiar character—A strong argument—Halting doubts and fears—A digression on mountaineering accidents—“From gay to grave, from lively to severe”—The storm breaks—A battle with the elements—Beating the air—The ridge carried by assault—What next, and next?—A topographical problem and a cool proposal—The descent down the Vallée Blanche—The old Montanvert hotel—The Montanvert path and its frequenters.It was the summer of 18— and our old quarters at Couttet’s hotel knew us once more. As we drove into the village of Chamouni we turned our heads carelessly around to note the various new hotels that might have arisen since our last visit. Observing that they were four or five in number, we rightly conjectured that we should find all the hotel keepers complaining bitterly of the hard times and the want of custom. Also we wondered in how many ways it was possible to build a house without any particular system of drainage, a deficiency which was at that time becom[pg 131]ing very marked in Chamouni, but has since, I believe, been improved. Yet the place itself had not altered essentially. New buildings of imposing exterior and little else do not materially alter a place that leads a life like that of modern Chamouni. The population, which throughout the summer appears to pass its time in the streets with its hands in its pockets, was still amusing itself in the same way. The tone of the village was just the same as we had always known it, and even M. Couttet himself had not succeeded in imparting any marine flavour by building an odd little lighthouse with an iron flag on the top which the architect had ingeniously represented as streaming permanently in a direction indicating a wind favourable for fine weather. We knew that we should find the same denizens in the hotel; and they were there.A youthful heroThere was a very young man with a very parti-coloured face from exposure on the glaciers, who had recently completed the thousand-and-first ascent of Mont Blanc and was perpetually posing gracefully against the door-post or in a lattice-work summer-house a few steps from the hotel, gazing towards the mountain and rather eagerly joining in any conversation relating to the perils of the ascent. There were three or four young ladies of various periods of life who gazed at him with admiration and enquired at intervals if he wasn’t very tired; to which the young man replied carelessly that he was not, and inwardly thought[pg 132]that the discomfort of sunburn and the consequent desquamation was on the whole cheaply bought, the while he wished the expedition had not cost so much and that so many others had not thought of making the same ascent. And then there came a lithe, active lady walker who had been up Mont Blanc and a great many other mountains too, and paid no more attention to the guides’ stereotyped compliments than a suspicious dog does to those of a nervous visitor: so the young man’s nose was put out of joint and he would have laughed scornfully at the fickleness of hero worship had not the skin of his face been in danger of cracking, and he wished his shirt collar had not been starched and thumped by the village washerwoman into the form of a circular linen saw.A scientific gentlemanThen there was an excitable Englishman of impulsive habits, with a large family who were perpetually playing a game of follow-my-leader with their parent, and who were under orders to weigh anchor on the following morning at five o’clock for the Montanvert and the Mauvais Pas. The boys were stoking up for the occasion with raw apples, and the girls were occupied, when not pursuing their restless father, in preparing a puggaree for his hat. There was a gentleman who affected the curious untidiness of raiment not unfrequently noticed among Sunday frequenters of the Thames, and who sought to establish a mountaineering reputation by constantly gazing at the peaks[pg 133]around in a knowing manner and wearing a flannel shirt of an obtrusive pattern destitute of any collar. There were guides about, who were on the point of being paid for their services and who were exceedingly polite and obsequious; others whose“tour”had just passed, were, proportionately, less deferential. There was an elderly lady whose whole soul appeared bent on a little stocking from which she never parted, and who turned the knitting needles to more account for toilet and other small purposes than I could have conceived to be possible. There were two or three mountaineers who appeared anxious only to avoid everyone’s gaze and who might be seen in byways and odd corners talking to bronzed guides who looked like business. Finally, there was a gentleman of statistical and scientific tendencies, much given to making quietly astonishing statements of astronomical facts and gently smiling as he rolled over his tongue and enjoyed the flavour of the vast numbers with which it was his pleasure to deal. He absolutely revelled and wallowed in figures. Buttonholed in a corner and compelled to listen with deferential attention, I secretly writhed as he crushed me slowly with the mere weight of his numerals. He shared with others of his frame of mind the peculiarity of always keeping something in hand and skilfully working up to a climax. Such and such a star was so many millions of miles off. We opened our eyes to the proper degree of width and[pg 134]observed,“Bless me!”or,“You don’t say so?”Instantly he would rejoin,“Ah, but that’s nothing to so and so,”and then favoured us with a still more immeasurable distance. We expressed a slightly greater degree of intelligent amazement. Thereupon he nodded his head, gently inclined it a little to one side, and smiled softly. It gave him such evident pleasure to have a listener that I attended with due reverence to his enthusiastic computations; knowing my man, I felt sure that he was keeping back a real staggerer to finish up with, and was prepared to assume varying degrees of surprise up to the moment when it should come. Unfortunately I misjudged its advent, and feeling that I had somewhat lost in his estimation by evincing undue astonishment at a comparatively small array of figures, I sought to turn the conversation by requesting to know how long he thought it might be before the great rock peaks around us would have crumbled away to their bases. The calculation was too trivial and the number of millions of generations too small to interest him much, but he vouchsafed an approximate estimate.A dream of the futureI let him babble on and fell a-thinking. The peaks were crumbling away bit by bit no doubt, the glaciers shrinking. At a bound the mind leapt into a future which, after all, might be not so very unlike a past. The Alps things of the past! What, I wondered, when the mountains were all levelled down and[pg 135]smiling valleys occupied the troughs of the glaciers of to-day, would some future commentators make of the literature so industriously piled up by the members and followers of the Alpine Club? Imagination ran riot as in a dream, and I fancied some enthusiast exploring the buried city of the second Babylon and excavating the ruins of the“finest site in Europe.”I pictured to myself the surprise in store for him on digging out the effigies of some of our naval and military heroes, and the mingled feelings with which he would contemplate the unearthed statue of George IV. It seemed possible that in that far-off epoch to which my friend’s calculations had borne me, the Alpine Club itself might have ceased to exist. Pursuing his explorations in an easterly direction, the excavator might perchance have lighted on a strange tunnel, almost Arcadian in its simplicity of design, and marvelled at the curious and cheap idols of wax and wood which the people of that ancient day had evidently worshipped. Turning north again, this Schliemann of the future would pass by the ruins of S. Martin’s Church, eager to light upon the precious archives of the historic Alpine Club itself. How eagerly he would peruse the lore contained in the Club library, anxious to decipher the inscriptions and discover what manner of men they were who lived and climbed when mountains and glaciers were still to be found on this planet. Human nature would[pg 136]probably not have changed much, and the successful explorer might even have been asked to favour a scientific society of the future with the result of his discoveries, to which in all probability he would have acceded, with a degree of reluctance not quite sufficient to deter the secretary of the society from pressing him.A condensed mountain ascentAn abstract of his description of our sibylline leaves I fancied might run somewhat in this style:—After commenting on the fact that the maps and illustrations did not usually correspond in number with the list set forth in the index of the volumes unearthed, he might proceed thus:—“In pursuit of their great and glorious object these ancient heroes appear to have undergone vast personal discomfort. It is difficult therefore to realise fully why so many engaged in this form of exploration. Instances have been given by other learned antiquarians who have studied the habits of this people, of a similar purposeless disregard of comfort, such as the four-wheeled wooden boxes in which they travelled about, the seats in their churches, &c. The outset of their expedition was almost invariably characterised by a display of bad temper, attributed to early rising. After a varying number of hours of excessive toil the travellers were wont to arrive at some fearsome chasm spoken of as a‘bergschrund.’On this, if the subject-matter of their narrative was insufficient in[pg 137]quantity, they were wont to descant and enlarge at length; sometimes, as we judge, in their descriptions they enlarged the bergschrund itself. They then crossed it. Immediately after this incident they were in the habit of eating, and the minute and instructive details commonly given enable us to form a tolerably accurate opinion as to the nature of the diet with which they supported their exhausted frames. Next they traversed strange localities for which there appear to have been no adequately descriptive expressions in their own language. In fact the difficulty of deciphering these records is greatly increased by the fact that the writers were versatile linguists, for they constantly make use of words of a hybrid character. They were evidently practised meteorologists and took much interest in this subject, as may be gathered throughout from their writings. At length they reached summits, of the nature of which we in our time can have but a feeble conception. So great was their relief at the termination of their self-imposed but toilsome task, that they habitually burst forth into language characterised by a wealth of imagery and a fervour of poetic description which unfortunately conveys but little idea to us in our day of what they actually saw. In descending they were all commonly within an ace of meeting with a violent death. The mode in which the danger attacked them varied within certain restricted limits, but it always[pg 138]occurred and the escape was always narrow. The peril over, they remarked that they breathed freely again, and then at once fell to eating. Arrived at a successful termination of their wearisome labour, they advised others to do the same. They dealt out unsparing satire to their companions, unlimited praise to their guides, and unmeasured ridicule to their porter. They commonly expressed throughout their descriptions grave doubts and uncertainty as to the issue of the expedition: a curious and noteworthy fact, for the heading of the accounts always divulged at the outset their ultimate success. The construction, therefore, of their narratives was in accordance with a well-recognised model and appeared capable of little variation. The only other facts that we can glean are that they were prodigious eaters, were much pestered by some extinct species of insects, and that they make frequent allusions to a substance termed tobacco. The constant repetition of these incidents stamps upon their writings the impress of unexaggerated veracity. Still they were not universally held in favour, indeed were regarded with disapprobation by some individuals of their own race. It would seem indeed from internal evidence that, had it not been for frequent and sharp criticism of their proceedings, their pastime might never have inveigled so many persons with its seductive fascination.”Now at the time at which these prophetic fancies[pg 139]were conjured up we had just completed an expedition which it seemed might be worthy of attention, solely on the ground of its very contradictoriness. For the features of this climb were most opposed to those already mentioned, and in fact mention of it scarcely seemed admissible in an Alpine narrative. We took no porter with us to fill the rôle of first low comedy man. We had very little to eat; our stock of wine ran out through a leaky gourd; our tobacco was wet and there was no bergschrund, and yet all this happened on a mountain close to Chamouni.Wanted, a programme“Some vast amount of years ago, ere all my youth had vanished from me,”as the poet says, at a date therefore which for obvious reasons it is inexpedient here to mention, I found myself, as already mentioned, at Chamouni. With me was an old mountain friend and fellow climber, J. Oakley Maund. We were both burning with desire to add to the list of the many successful expeditions we had made together, but, as a matter of fact, were somewhat gravelled for lack of suitable matter. Like a ministry on the eve of a general election or a gentleman without a sixpenny-piece at a theatre, we were sorely in need of a programme. The locality was somewhat unfortunately chosen for those in whom the ancient spirit was not yet quite extinct and who wanted to do something new. Ever since the days when Jacques Balmat, Dr. Paccard, and the great De Saussure had donned strange apparel[pg 140]and shown the way—that is to say, for nearly a hundred years—people had been climbing mountains in the district, and it was not to be wondered at if it were hard to find some expedition which nobody else had thought of, or, worse still, had achieved. We gazed at the map and made thumb marks all over it. In every conceivable direction ran little lines indicative of previous explorations. We studied thecarte en relief, but without much hope of getting any information of value from this inaccurate and lumpy absurdity. Mont Blanc, which, according to this work of plastic art, was modelled out as some eight or ten thousand feet higher than any other point of the chain, had had all the snow worn off its summit by much fingering, so that the component pasteboard showed through. Rivers ran uphill in this map, and lakes were inclined at an angle; bits of sticking plaister represented towns and villages, and the whole article was absolutely bristling with little spikes and points like the old panoramas of London or the docks at Liverpool. Still a considerable number of people seemed willing enough to pay fifty centimes for the pleasure of indicating elaborate expeditions on it with their fore-fingers, and appeared to derive pleasure from gazing on a pasteboard misrepresentation when they could by looking out of window see the real thing for nothing. We abandoned thecarte en reliefand took Jaun and Kaspar Maurer into our confidence. The[pg 141]only suggestions that they could make were the Aiguille des Charmoz and the Dent du Géant. The former of these two peaks we had both tried to ascend in former seasons, without success. Jaun did not think then that it was possible, and without sharing his opinion we gave way to it. With regard to the latter mountain we all thought at the time that an undue amount of what is vaguely termed“artificial aid”would be necessary to ensure success, an opinion confirmed by subsequent events, for when Signor Sella achieved the honour of the first ascent he was only able to accomplish it by somewhat elaborate engineering appliances. Some bold person of an original turn of thought suggested of course a variation of some way up Mont Blanc, but the utter impossibility of discovering the slightest deviation from any previously ascended route and the utter uselessness of trying to find one caused a general shout of derision, and the bold person thereupon withdrew his suggestion and ordered some coffee. Besides, the weather was fine; every day swarms of tourists could be seen, crawling up the sides of the monarch of mountains, in numbers as many as the flies on a sugar loaf in a grocer’s window on a hot day.One evening we sat in front of Couttet’s hotel staring pensively at the familiar outline of the row of aiguilles, and wishing we had lived in the days of Albert Smith, the best friend Chamouni ever had.[pg 142]At any rate, at that time the natives were unsophisticated and the mountains about were not all done to death. The valley between us and the chain was filled with a light haze, not sufficient to conceal the outline of the mountains but yet enough to blot out their detail and solidity. As the moon rose behind the chain we saw a strange phenomenon. A silhouette was thrown forwards on to the curtain of haze and photographed on it with sharp and clear definition, so that we could recognise, at an immense height, the shadowed peaks looking almost as massive as the actual mountains. Nor was this all; a second curtain of mist seemed to be suspended, in a vertical stratum, in front of the former one, and the shadows were again marked out on this, infinitely more magnified and less distinct, but still perfectly recognisable. As a result we were able to see the semblance of three distinct tiers of mountains one above the other, looking so massive that we could scarcely realise that they were but transparent ghosts of the peaks; and the phenomenon, a double“Brocken,”must have lasted for more than half an hour. However, we desired something more of the nature of the substance than the shadow, and ultimately came to the conclusion that it was absolutely necessary for our peace of mind to accomplish something on the morrow, and as it really mattered but little what that something might be, provided a good climb was afforded, we must yield[pg 143]to circumstances and perforce adopt the latter-day necessity of all mountaineers. If we could not find the right way up some new mountain we could at least take the wrong way up an old one.The Aiguille du MidiSo the next morning we walked up to the Pierre Pointue as a preliminary step—a good many and rather arduous steps—towards the object in view. The exertion of toiling up the zigzags or the more rarefied atmosphere had a remarkable effect on one of the party, whose face when we reached the chalet was found to be wreathed in smiles and wearing an expression of great intelligence. He had in fact become possessed of an idea. Bubbling over with self-satisfied chuckles, he suggested that we should ascend the Aiguille du Midi by the face directly in front of us and then descend on the other side, thus making a col of the mountain. The idea found favour instantly, and the intelligent person was so much pleased that he ordered a bottle of wine, plastered over with a very costly variety of label, and regretted it. Investigation of the cellar revealed only two casks of wine, but the“carte”comprised a long list of various vintages. Fired with enthusiasm and inflated withlimonade gazeuse, we left the chalet and strode vigorously up the hill in order to prospect the route and reconnoitre the rocks. The exertion and the pace soon told upon us, the sooner that it was a hot, enervating day; the kind of day that makes one perforce admire the[pg 144]ingenious benevolence of nature in fashioning out on the grassy slopes rounded inequalities, exactly adapted to those of the human figure in a seated or recumbent position. The heated air rising from the ground gave flickering and distorted views of distant objects, like unto marine phenomena viewed through the cheap panes of a seaside lodging-house window. The grasshoppers were extraordinarily busy; the bees droned through the heavy air; the ants, overcome apparently by the temperature, had given up for the time straining their jaws by their foolish practice of carrying large parcels about without any definite object, and had retired to the shady seclusion of their own heaped-up residences; the turf was most inviting. It now occurred to us that there was no absolute necessity for the whole party to ascend on the present occasion, and that perhaps the guides might go up quicker alone. The details of this suggestion were acceded to on the part of the amateurs of the party with astonishing alacrity and unanimity. We laid the scheme before the guides, and they also thought it a very fine one. Thereupon, with much parade and ceremony, they braced themselves up for great exertion, borrowed the telescope, remarked that they expected to be back some time during the night, and started upwards with somewhat over-acted eagerness. My companion and I disposed ourselves comfortably in the shade, and resumed an argument which had[pg 145]originally commenced some days previously. I waxed eloquent on the subject under discussion and with much success, for such was the force of my logic and the cogency of my reasoning that I bore down on my opponent, and reduced him in a short time to absolute silence, from which he did not awake for nearly two hours.Ephemeral acquaintancesAbout this time the guides, who in all probability had also been comfortably asleep within a short distance of us, returned and gave a favourable report concerning the mountain. Elated by this news, we climbed a short distance further up, and met there a large party of ephemeral acquaintances who were taking an afternoon’s pleasure on the hills. After the manner of people when so engaged, they set forth with great energy and climbed up a steep little rock tump a few hundred yards distant. Arrived at the summit, they roared out unintelligible remarks to us, and we did the same to them till we were hoarse; we waved our hands and hats and they flourished their handkerchiefs as if they were our dearest friends on earth, just setting out on an emigrant ship for the Antipodes. The party then descended; the nearer they came the less friendly and demonstrative were we, and by the time we met the warmth of affection recently manifested on both sides had wholly evaporated, and we conversed in ordinary tones on indifferent topics. Then they set out for another little hill,[pg 146]and we were moved, apparently by some uncontrollable impulse, to go through the same idiotic performance. Emotional behaviour of a similar kind is not infrequently observed in the mountains. We journeyed together back to the Pierre Pointue, viewing each other with distrust and suspicion; and when it was found that we had bespoken the beds—if the exaggerated packing-cases lined with straw bags could be considered such—we parted on terms the reverse of friendly. So frail are the links that bind human affections.A familiar characterStanding in front of the hut was a type of character very familiar in these tourist-frequented districts. His exterior was unpromising; his beard of a fortnight’s growth, or thereabouts, somewhat fitful withal and lacking in uniformity of development. A hard hat, with a shining green veil folded around its battered outline, decorated his head; his raiment was black and rusty, his legs cased in canvas gaiters fastened with many little girths and buckles, and in his right hand he grasped a trusty three-franc pole made of wainy deal, and surmounted at the top by a brown knob similar to those which come out suddenly when we try to open a chest of drawers in a cheap lodging. He fidgeted about for a while, asked questions in a rather loud tone of voice at us, and we felt that it was his intention to enter into conversation. It was even so. After a while he sidled up and[pg 147]requested with much diffidence to be informed what we proposed to climb on the morrow. Now the true mountaineer, however amiable his disposition, always shrinks up into his shell when such a question is put to him on the eve of an expedition. My companion indicated by a sweep of the arm a space of territory extending about from the Mont Buet on the one side round to the Aiguille de Gouté on the other. Our friend surveyed from end to end the extensive panorama suggested, then looked seriously at us and observed that we should probably find it a fine walk. We expressed gravely the opinion that he was quite right, and then went in to dinner, while our composite friend expatiated on the project to his companions as an expedition but little out of the ordinary run, and one that he was perfectly prepared to undertake himself if so disposed; then he resumed his contemplation of a rock some ninety feet or so in height jutting out through the glacier above, which he was under the impression was a lady descending from Mont Blanc. We did not learn his name, but the individual may, nevertheless, possibly be recognised. Some points of the argument were still unsettled when we climbed over the edges of our respective boxes and vanished into the strawy depths below. The clear moonlight streamed in through the window and prevented sleep; so I lay in my wooden box thinking over the recent discussion, but with such a distinct intention—[pg 148]like little Paul Dombey with Mrs. Pipchin—of fixing my companion presently, that even that hardy old mountaineer deemed it prudent to counterfeit slumber.In the small hours of the morning we got under weigh. For some time we had been leading a life of sloth in Chamouni, and the delight of finding ourselves once more on the mountain path, and making for a rock climb, entirely precluded that fractiousness which, as all readers of Alpine literature know, ought properly to be described at this period of an expedition. The path was irregular and demanded some equanimity, for the stumbling-blocks were innumerable and artfully placed to trip up the unwary in an aggravating manner. Feeling it unfair that all the work should be thrown on the guides, I had volunteered, rather magnanimously, to bear part of the burden, and selected the lantern as my share. By this means it was not only possible to walk in comfort over a well-lighted track, but the bearer was enabled also to regulate the pace to a speed convenient to his own feelings. Before long, however, we reached the lower snow patches of the Glacier des Pélèrins, and the light was no longer necessary.Halting doubts and fearsWe made straight across the crisp snow to the base of a promising-looking rock buttress lying to the right of the snow gully that runs up the side of the mountain, feeling sure that either by the rocks or the snow a[pg 149]way up could be found. And now I am painfully conscious of a glaring defect in this Alpine narrative. A mountain ascent without a bergschrund is as tame as a steeplechase without a water jump, but candour compels the admission that no bergschrund was visible. Either we had hit on a spot where the orthodox chasm was filled up for the time, or else this particular glacier was an exception to all others previously treated of in mountain literature. In a few seconds we found ourselves on the rocks, delighted to exchange the monotonous mode of progression compulsory on snow for the varied gymnastic exercises demanded on rocks. The sun had risen, the axes clanked merrily against the stones, the snow was in good condition for walking, everything seemed favourable, and we gazed down complacently on the distance already traversed. Above us the mountain was broken up and easy, and we climbed on rapidly, each in the fashion that seemed best to him. So good was our progress at first, that we were already far up the buttress, and could barely see our morning’s tracks in the snow beneath, when a halt was called for breakfast, and we had time to look around. Now, however unconventional this expedition may have been in many respects, the sagacious student of Alpine literature will know that it must be wholly impossible to omit all reference to the weather. As soon might one expect two prosaic persons of slight acquaintanceship to abjure the topic at a chance[pg 150]meeting. The western sky wore a rather ominous look of half mourning, and heavy grey and black clouds were whirling about and forming up in close order in a manner suggestive of rising wind. Even at this stage of the proceedings the thought crossed our minds that the storm which was evidently brewing might possibly overtake us, and that perhaps we ought at once to turn back.The storm gathersOne thing was evident; that we must decide quickly, whatever we did. We determined to push on for a while, and with that intent girded ourselves with the rope and worked our way on to the top of the first buttress. At this point, further progress directly upwards was impossible, and we were compelled to cross the gully and make for the rock on the left-hand side. Considerable care is always necessary in crossing, horizontally, a gully filled with snow, where the rope is rather a source of danger than of security. We had to give all our attention to the passage, and when we reached the rocks opposite, the climbing, though not formidable, was still sufficiently difficult to occupy all our thoughts for the moment, and we had but little leisure, and perhaps but little inclination, for meteorological observations. At the top of the rocks a promising snow slope, stretching upwards with gentle curves and sweeps, seemed to offer a fair prospect of rapid progress. Such snow slopes are at all times a little[pg 151]deceptive. Even when the climber is close to them they look oftentimes much easier than they immediately after prove to be. From a distance, say from under the verandah of a comfortable hotel, when the climberin posseindicates the way he would pursue with the end of his cigar, they are absurdly easy. So, too, are obstacles in the hunting-field, such as stiff hedges and uncompromising gates, easy enough when the Nimrod studies them as he whirls along in an express train. Subsequently, when immediately associated with a horse, these same obstacles assume a different guise. Then are the sentiments of the hunter prone to become modified, and compassion for dumb beasts becomes more prominent in thethoughtfulvotary of the chase, till finally it may be observed that the little wits jump sometimes more than the great ones. Even so does the mountaineer often discover, on a nearer acquaintance that the snow incline up which he proposed to stride merrily is inclined at a highly inconvenient angle. However, at the commencement of our slope we found the snow in good condition, and advanced quickly for some little distance, but before we had got very far it was necessary to resort to the axe, and we had then ample opportunities of looking round. The clouds were lowering more and more, but as they were swept up by a sou’westerly wind, the intervening mass of the mountain prevented us from seeing thoroughly what might be in store for us.[pg 152]The wind, too, was growing stronger every minute, and my companion, who was still pursuing his argument, and, as it appeared subsequently, making some rather good points, had to exert himself considerably in order to make his voice heard.Presently we halted for a few minutes on some spiky little rocks, and again looked about. The weather prospects were just in that doubtful state that prompts every member of the party to ask the others what they think. Maurer looked exceedingly vacant and made no remark. Jaun put a bit of snow in his mouth, but declined to give an opinion. We, not to be outdone, assumed very profound expressions, as if prepared to find ourselves in the right whatever happened, but, following the example of Lord Burleigh in the famous tragedy, we said nothing either. At last, some one suggested that we might go on for a little, and then see. Accordingly we went on for a little, but then as a matter of fact the mists swept up around us and we did not see anything at all. It was, no doubt, inconvenient that we were unable to penetrate with our gaze to the regions above, but still we felt that there was one slight counterbalancing advantage, for there was present the haunting consciousness that the gigantic telescope of Chamouni was pointed in our direction, and at least the enveloping mist ensured that privacy which is not always accorded to climbers pursuing their pastime within range of these instruments of science.[pg 153]“From gay to grave”In the hope that the condition of the upper snow might be good, and perhaps rather mistaken in the height we had already reached, we made up our minds to push on, with the view of reaching at any rate the top of the ridge before the storm broke. Every now and again a rent in the clouds above, lasting for a few seconds, showed us that the wind was blowing with great force, as thin clouds of loose snow were swept up and whirled along the face in curling wreaths. The spectacle might not, at first sight, have been thought highly diverting: yet as we pointed upwards to the ridge and watched the racing snow-drifts driving over the slopes we were making for, we all laughed very heartily. So universal is the tendency to be amused at the sight of discomfort that it even extends to the contemplation of its occurring shortly to oneself. In the paulo-post-future the experience is exhilarating: in the actual present it is less laughter-moving. Laughter in the presence of events that are, in the true sense of the word, sensational, comes almost as a reflex action (to borrow an expression from the physiologists), and the sympathetic distress that follows takes an appreciable time to develop. I can recall once being a witness with some others of a ghastly accident by which several people were precipitated, together with a mass of broken timbers and débris of all sorts, from a great height. A door was burst open and the ruin met our eyes suddenly. To this day I can[pg 154]remember sounds of laughter at the first view—hysterical if you like to call it so, and not mirthful, but still laughter. In a few seconds the realisation of what had happened came, and then came the distress and with it expressions of horror, as all worked manfully to help and rescue the sufferers. The sequence of emotions was perfectly natural, and only they who have never passed through such an experience would speak of inhumanity. There is no want of humanity in the matter. The suddenness of the impression begets the train of emotions, and the brain grasps the facts but slowly. To take another instance: I have been told by a man whose quickness and presence of mind were remarkable—a man who as a schoolboy won a Royal Humane Society’s medal—that on one occasion he witnessed a friend fall over a staircase from a great height. The accident was in the highest degree unexpected: and the witness walked leisurely on as if nothing had happened. But in a few seconds came like a severe blow the sudden realisation of what had taken place. Thought is not always quick. We can no more exert our minds to their fullest capacity on a sudden than we can put forth our utmost physical strength on a sudden. Action when almost instantaneous is independent of the higher mental faculties, and is but a reflex. The experience of those who have been in railway accidents will be of the same nature. In climbing up a very steep or difficult place[pg 155]if a man falls all are prepared more or less for such an accident. The whole attention is given to guarding against a probable contingency, and it follows that the mind can instantly realise its occurrence. And that such is the case I have been unlucky enough to witness, though most fortunately the fall was attended with no serious consequences. On the same principle, to take a more trivial example, on difficult rocks it is the rarest possible accident for a man to sprain his ankle or knee. The muscles are always prepared for a possible slip and kept in tension on the alert. On the loose moraine, when walking leisurely or carelessly, such an accident is a thousand times more likely to occur.The storm breaksOur leader worked away with a will, but the snow got harder at every step. The growing force of the wind, which in nautical language had increased from that vague degree known as a capful to the indefinite force of a stiff breeze, and the increasing steepness of the slope, compelled Jaun to make the steps larger and larger as we ascended. It soon became evident that the storm would overtake us long before we could hope to get on to the ridge, and that we had deliberately walked into something of a trap. The steps had been cut so far apart that to descend by the same line would have involved the construction of a fresh staircase, and on actually turning, we found that what was a stiff breeze behind us was a half gale when it met our faces. It was certainly easier to go on[pg 156]than to go back; so we went further and fared much worse. The slope became steeper, the ice harder, the half gale became a whole gale, and the delay between each step seemed interminable. Suddenly, as we passed from under the lee of a projecting slope on our right, a tremendous gust of wind, which seemed to have waited for a few moments in order to collect its full forces, swept suddenly down and almost tore us from our foothold. With that a torrent of hail fell, and for a few moments we had enough to do to hold on where we stood. Even my companion’s conversation slackened. He had astutely selected a place in the caravan immediately behind me, and as the gale was blowing directly on our backs was enabled to fire off his remarks and arguments without any possibility of response. Anything that I said in answer was audible only to our leader, who took not the smallest interest in the discussion. Unfortunately, too, it was difficult to listen with any attention; for as the gusts came on we were forced to swing all our faces round like chimney cowls instantly in the same direction. The squalls became more frequent and more violent, the thunder and lightning played around merrily, and as the wind howled by we had to throw ourselves flat against the slope, adopting the undignified attitudes of a deer-stalker nearing the brow of a Scotch hill—attitudes which bring somewhat unduly into prominence the inadequate nature of the national costume.[pg 157]Fortunately, as has been said, we were screened from view; and our poses, though possibly ungraceful, were at any rate uncriticised. The big hailstones, falling softly around, filled up the steps as they were made, and our feet were buried up to the ankles in a moment. In a minute or two the hurricane passed for the time; then we arose, shook ourselves, smiled at nothing in particular, and the leader would find time during the comparative lull to hack out three or four fresh steps. Certain sounds, not accounted for by the elements, coming up from below, may have been suggestions or may have been arguments, but they were knocked out of all intelligible shape before they reached the head of the caravan. Not even the porter at Lloyd’s or the captain of a merchantman could have made himself audible in that cyclone. Upwards we went, fighting for each step and for each yard gained as hard as if we were storming a fortress. Even while the leader had his axe in the air ready to deliver a fresh blow a distant roar would betoken another onslaught, and we instantly fell flat down like tin soldiers struck with the well-directed pea, and disposed ourselves at a convenient angle of resistance; and so we went on, when we did go on at all. If the relation is wearisome it is also realistic, for we found that the actual experience was far from being lively; but all things must have an end, including even thefeuilletonin a Parisian newspaper or the walk up to[pg 158]the Bel Alp on a hot day, and the termination came almost unexpectedly.A battle with the elementsWe had got thoroughly tired of perpetually clinging on by the simple force of adhesion to the storm-swept slope, and felt almost inclined to give up the struggle against the elements and to go straight on trusting to chance. Maurer, below, wore the expression of frowning discontent best seen in amateur tenors singing a tender love ditty. Jaun had remarked half-a-dozen times that the very next squall would infallibly sweep us all away, and his cheerful prophetic utterances really seemed on the point of being fulfilled, when, almost suddenly, the snow seemed to vanish from under our feet, and we found ourselves on the summit of the ridge; at least directly above us no more ascent appeared to present. It was difficult to realise adequately the exact direction in which we were facing, but I suppose that as the ridge runs about north and south by the compass, we were facing a little south of east. This was an important matter to decide, as the mist was gathered thick around and the idea of descent had to be at once considered now that we had got to a position of some degree of definiteness. At our feet the snow slope fell away in a manner so distinct that we were without doubt really on the top of some portion of the ridge. The difficulty was to estimate how far to our right the summit of the Aiguille du Midi itself lay. However, we felt with relief the truth of[pg 159]somebody’s remark that we had at length succeeded in getting somewhere; so far, no doubt, matters were satisfactory. Howbeit, our pleasure was somewhat modified by the discovery that the gale blew with considerably more force on the south-east side than it did on the one by which we had ascended. We looked towards the south and endeavoured to gather our wits together to elucidate the geographical problem that presented. At the foot of the slope must lie the upper basin of the Vallée Blanche and the Glacier de Tacul; unfortunately there seemed to be a prodigious storm going on in that basin, and clouds of loose snow were whirling about in all directions. It was impossible to understand these winds; one might have thought that Æolus had just stepped out to attend a committee meeting of the gods, and that all his subordinates were having high jinks during his absence.Beating the airThe possibility of actually completing the ascent of the mountain seemed out of the question, and the hope that we might have crept under the shelter of the ridge to the final little rock cone of the Aiguille was literally thrown to the winds. Here again, therefore, this narrative is highly unconventional, for it is impossible to consult M. Roget’s“Thesaurus”and indulge with its aid in any grandiloquent description of the view from the summit, although my account has now reached the stage at[pg 160]which such word painting ought properly to be inserted. We turned to our right, the direction in which the peak lay, and walked some little way along the ridge till we got under shelter of a rock; now we were able once more to stand upright and, huddled together, took the opportunity which had been denied to us for some hours to interchange views. All agreed that the situation was vile; that word, at least, may be taken as the resultant of the various forcible epithets actually employed. All agreed that the cold was intense, the prospect doubtful, and the panoramanil. There was but one redeeming feature: extreme discomfort will reveal humour in those in whom that quality would not be expecteda priorito find a dwelling-place, and to each one of us the spectacle of his three wobegone companions seemed to afford, if not amusement, at least an inkling of complacency. Maurer removed the pack from his shoulders, and it was then perceived that our cup of misery was full, and our sole remaining bottle of wine completely empty. We had originally started with two, one white and one red, of an inferior and indigestible quality, but had left the white wine down below on the snow; we had previously drunk it. The other bottle had broken against some projecting rock in climbing up, and the resulting leakage had led to the formation of a very large circular red patch in the small of Maurer’s back, wherever that anatomical region might be[pg 161]situated in our squat and sturdy little guide. After muttering together in patois for a little while the guides seized their axes and suddenly commenced with great vigour to hack out a large hole in the ice. We fell to also, and for some few minutes all worked away with the best of good will; the splinters and little blocks of ice flew around under our blows, and before long we had excavated a flat basin capable of holding water. At the least, the exercise had the effect of warming us, and Maurer, who previously, from the effects of the cold, had been the colour of a congested alderman in the face, gradually assumed a more healthy hue. We now inquired what the object might be of preparing this cavern. Thereupon Jaun gave vent to the ingenious suggestion that we had better remain where we were and sleep in it. The idea seemed too likely to lead to permanent repose to be commendable, and we received his proposition, as befitted its nature, with some coolness, remarking that on the whole we should prefer to go home. This view led to further conversation; ultimately we descended a few feet on the south-east side and then made our way along the face of the slope in a south-westerly direction towards the hut on the Aiguille du Midi. The snow was soft, and we went on for some distance without difficulty, till we again reached the ridge on the south-west side of the Aiguille, having thus passed round the base of the final peak of the mountain, which consists of a[pg 162]comparatively small rocky cone jutting up from the main ridge. We were still of course a long way from the hut, but as in this situation we were much more sheltered, we took the opportunity to review the state of affairs and to consider our position, which for the moment, like that of the pocket of a lady’s ball dress, was indeterminate. What were we to do? As with the diners at“Prix fixe”restaurant, there were three courses for us: we might go down on one side, we might descend on the other side, or we might remain where we were. The latter alternative was as distasteful now as it had been just previously, and it was negatived decisively.“Very good,”said the guides;“if you won’t stay here we must go down that way,”and they pointed in a direction westerly by the compass. My companion and I were opposed to this plan for two reasons: one that the route would, if it led anywhere in particular, take us down to the Glacier des Bossons, where we did not want to go, the other that by reason of the marvellous fury of the hurricane it would have been altogether impossible to follow at all the line indicated. We were only in fact able to dart out from under shelter of the rock and peer down into the misty depths for a few seconds at a time, for the gale took our breath away as completely as in the“cavern of the winds”at Niagara. To have climbed down a new and difficult rock cliff in the face of the numbing cold would have been little short of suicidal.[pg 163]Descent down Vallée BlancheIt is Artemus Ward, I think, who describes the ingenious manner in which Baron Trenck, of prison-breaking fame, escaped on one occasion from durance vile. For fifteen long years the Baron had lain immured, and had tried in vain to carry out all the sensational methods of escape ever suggesting themselves to his fertile brain. At last an idea occurred to him. He opened the door and walked out. By an intellectual effort of almost equal brilliancy and originality we solved the difficulty that beset us: we turned towards the south-east and walked quietly down the slope for a hundred feet or so. Simplicity of thought is characteristic of great minds. Why, nevertheless, it had not occurred to us before to escape by this line I can no more explain than I can give the reason why all the ladies in a concert-room smile, as one woman, when a singer of their own sex makes her appearance on the platform, or why itinerant harp players always wear tall hats. Immediately the complexion of affairs brightened up. The wind was much less furious than it had been on the ridge, and the hail was replaced by snow. Jaun now gave it as his opinion that the best line of descent would consist in crossing round the head of the Vallée Blanche and the upper slopes of the Glacier du Géant, so as to join the ordinary route leading from the Col du Géant to the Montanvert. But in the thick mist it would have been far from easy to hit off the right track, and we[pg 164]thought it possible to make a short cut to the same end, and to find a way directly down the Vallée Blanche towards the rocks known as the Petit Rognon. We had no compass with us, but the direction of the slope indicated the proper line of descent to follow. In most years it would not be easy to discover the way through the complicated crevasses of the ice-fall situated between the“Rognon”and the easterly rocks of the Aiguille du Midi; but in 18— so much snow had fallen early in the spring and so little had melted during the summer, that we experienced comparatively little difficulty in descending almost in a straight line. During this part of the expedition the good qualities of our guides showed once more to advantage. Unquestionably while on the ridge they had put forward suggestions which were rather wild in character, and which were proved now to be mistaken. The intense cold and the beating of the storm seemed rather to have paralysed their usually calm judgment, and it is an odd fact that guides, even when first rate, are oftentimes more affected by such conditions than are the amateurs whom they conduct. We could no more, with such experience as we possessed, have led the way aright as our leader did with unerring sagacity, than an untutored person could write out a full orchestra score. We could only insist on a given line being taken if in their judgment it were possible. Once fairly started, we felt that we[pg 165]must push our plan through, employing the same form of argument as the man did in support of a bold statement that a certain beaver, closely pursued by a dog, had climbed up a tree. It was not a question now whether we could do it, or could not do it; we had to do it. The day was far spent, there was possibly much difficult work before us, and the exertion already undergone had been tolerably severe. The temptation was therefore great rather to scamp the work of finding the best and safest track through the ice-fall, but our leader displayed as much care and thoroughness as if he were strolling over snow slopes with a critical Chamouni guide behind him. A momentary glimpse of the familiar form of the Aiguille du Géant right in front of us confirmed the judgment that we were on the right track. In descending the ice-fall we passed to the right of the Petit Rognon, and at the base of the Séracs halted and thought we would have something to eat. Maurer produced our stock of provisions, which consisted of one roll studded with little bits of broken glass and reduced by the action of wine and water to the consistence of a poultice. The refection was, therefore, as unsatisfactory as a meal out of a loosely tied nosebag to a cab horse. And now for another departure from time-honoured custom. All mountain narratives at this period of the day make reference to the use of tobacco, the well-earned pipe, and so forth. But the sleety rain,[pg 166]which for the last hour and a half had replaced the snow, had soaked everything so thoroughly that an attempt to carry out the orthodox proceeding did not, like most failures, end in smoke. So we trudged on again empty and unsolaced.A scanty repastAs the shades of night were falling, four dripping and woe-begone travellers might, to borrow the novelist’s common mode of expression, have been observed toiling up the steep path towards the old Montanvert hotel—that is, they might have been observed by anybody who was foolish enough to be out of doors on such a detestable evening. We entered the familiar little room, an ingenious compound of a toyshop and a barrack, and notwithstanding that we were viewed with marked disfavour by the other guests therein assembled in consequence of our moist and steamy condition, we seated ourselves and called for refreshment. The atmosphere in the stuffy den called the salon was a trifle pungent, and having contributed a little additional dampness to the apartment we set off again. That familiar old room with its odd collection of curiosities, in which the fare was on the whole more disproportionate to the price than at any other institution of a similar kind in the mountains, has ceased to exist long ago. I fancy that it did not require much pulling down. It is happily replaced now by one of the best managed and most comfortable mountain hotels to be found in the Alps, a sure sign[pg 167]of which attraction is to be found in the fact that it is, at any rate, spoken of with disfavour by the inhabitants of the village below or by such as do not hold shares. Another hour’s descent and we passed through the few scattered houses just outside Chamouni. The attractions on the way down had not diverted us from our stern purpose of reaching Couttet’s hotel as soon as possible. We had politely declined the invitation of a perennially knitting young woman to view a live chamois. The spasmodic smile called up by each approaching tourist faded from her countenance as we passed by. Four times did we decline the gentle refreshment oflimonade gazeuse, once did we sternly refuse to partake of strawberries, and twice to purchase crystals. It was dark as we neared the town; it may have been my fancy, but I cannot help thinking that I perceived our old friend the blind beggar with the lugubrious expression which he wore when on duty, and with the tall hat which served the purpose of an alms’-box, and which he did not wear when on duty, enjoying himself in a very merry manner by the side of a blazing fire. Notwithstanding that night had fallen there was still a little group by the bridge round the one-armed telescope man, anxiously crowding to hear the last news of the two insane Englishmen who had without doubt perished that day miserably on the rocks of the Midi. A project had already been started to organise an expedition on the morrow to search for the bodies; and[pg 168]we might very possibly, if we had cared for the excitement, have been allowed to join the party.A projected expeditionAs in a play the most striking situation is by the discreet author reserved to the conclusion, so in this contradictory chapter the most glaring deficiency comes now at the end. My readers, if they have generously followed me so far, will recognise that we not only went on something of a fool’s errand, incurring considerable difficulty and perhaps risk in that mission, but that we never got up the mountain at all. The force of contradictoriness can no further go. Still, it may be pointed out that we did actually accomplish all that was novel in the expedition. Once on the ridge, the remaining portion of the climb is, in fine weather, easy and well known, so the fact that the Aiguille du Midi can be ascended by this line by any one consumed with an ambition to do so, is beyond doubt. We were not probably at one point more than twenty minutes or half an hour from the actual summit. I cannot honestly advise anybody to follow our tracks; but in all probability, if someone should desire to do so, he need not, under favourable conditions, contemplate meeting with any unsurmountable difficulties.The Aiguille du Dru from the SouthTHE AIGUILLE DU DRUFROM THE SOUTH

Chamouni again—The hotelclientèle—A youthful hero—The inevitable English family—A scientific gentleman—A dream of the future—The hereafter of the Alps and of Alpine literature—A condensed mountain ascent—Wanted, a programme—A double“Brocken”—A hill-side phenomenon and a familiar character—A strong argument—Halting doubts and fears—A digression on mountaineering accidents—“From gay to grave, from lively to severe”—The storm breaks—A battle with the elements—Beating the air—The ridge carried by assault—What next, and next?—A topographical problem and a cool proposal—The descent down the Vallée Blanche—The old Montanvert hotel—The Montanvert path and its frequenters.

Chamouni again—The hotelclientèle—A youthful hero—The inevitable English family—A scientific gentleman—A dream of the future—The hereafter of the Alps and of Alpine literature—A condensed mountain ascent—Wanted, a programme—A double“Brocken”—A hill-side phenomenon and a familiar character—A strong argument—Halting doubts and fears—A digression on mountaineering accidents—“From gay to grave, from lively to severe”—The storm breaks—A battle with the elements—Beating the air—The ridge carried by assault—What next, and next?—A topographical problem and a cool proposal—The descent down the Vallée Blanche—The old Montanvert hotel—The Montanvert path and its frequenters.

It was the summer of 18— and our old quarters at Couttet’s hotel knew us once more. As we drove into the village of Chamouni we turned our heads carelessly around to note the various new hotels that might have arisen since our last visit. Observing that they were four or five in number, we rightly conjectured that we should find all the hotel keepers complaining bitterly of the hard times and the want of custom. Also we wondered in how many ways it was possible to build a house without any particular system of drainage, a deficiency which was at that time becom[pg 131]ing very marked in Chamouni, but has since, I believe, been improved. Yet the place itself had not altered essentially. New buildings of imposing exterior and little else do not materially alter a place that leads a life like that of modern Chamouni. The population, which throughout the summer appears to pass its time in the streets with its hands in its pockets, was still amusing itself in the same way. The tone of the village was just the same as we had always known it, and even M. Couttet himself had not succeeded in imparting any marine flavour by building an odd little lighthouse with an iron flag on the top which the architect had ingeniously represented as streaming permanently in a direction indicating a wind favourable for fine weather. We knew that we should find the same denizens in the hotel; and they were there.

A youthful hero

A youthful hero

There was a very young man with a very parti-coloured face from exposure on the glaciers, who had recently completed the thousand-and-first ascent of Mont Blanc and was perpetually posing gracefully against the door-post or in a lattice-work summer-house a few steps from the hotel, gazing towards the mountain and rather eagerly joining in any conversation relating to the perils of the ascent. There were three or four young ladies of various periods of life who gazed at him with admiration and enquired at intervals if he wasn’t very tired; to which the young man replied carelessly that he was not, and inwardly thought[pg 132]that the discomfort of sunburn and the consequent desquamation was on the whole cheaply bought, the while he wished the expedition had not cost so much and that so many others had not thought of making the same ascent. And then there came a lithe, active lady walker who had been up Mont Blanc and a great many other mountains too, and paid no more attention to the guides’ stereotyped compliments than a suspicious dog does to those of a nervous visitor: so the young man’s nose was put out of joint and he would have laughed scornfully at the fickleness of hero worship had not the skin of his face been in danger of cracking, and he wished his shirt collar had not been starched and thumped by the village washerwoman into the form of a circular linen saw.

A scientific gentleman

A scientific gentleman

Then there was an excitable Englishman of impulsive habits, with a large family who were perpetually playing a game of follow-my-leader with their parent, and who were under orders to weigh anchor on the following morning at five o’clock for the Montanvert and the Mauvais Pas. The boys were stoking up for the occasion with raw apples, and the girls were occupied, when not pursuing their restless father, in preparing a puggaree for his hat. There was a gentleman who affected the curious untidiness of raiment not unfrequently noticed among Sunday frequenters of the Thames, and who sought to establish a mountaineering reputation by constantly gazing at the peaks[pg 133]around in a knowing manner and wearing a flannel shirt of an obtrusive pattern destitute of any collar. There were guides about, who were on the point of being paid for their services and who were exceedingly polite and obsequious; others whose“tour”had just passed, were, proportionately, less deferential. There was an elderly lady whose whole soul appeared bent on a little stocking from which she never parted, and who turned the knitting needles to more account for toilet and other small purposes than I could have conceived to be possible. There were two or three mountaineers who appeared anxious only to avoid everyone’s gaze and who might be seen in byways and odd corners talking to bronzed guides who looked like business. Finally, there was a gentleman of statistical and scientific tendencies, much given to making quietly astonishing statements of astronomical facts and gently smiling as he rolled over his tongue and enjoyed the flavour of the vast numbers with which it was his pleasure to deal. He absolutely revelled and wallowed in figures. Buttonholed in a corner and compelled to listen with deferential attention, I secretly writhed as he crushed me slowly with the mere weight of his numerals. He shared with others of his frame of mind the peculiarity of always keeping something in hand and skilfully working up to a climax. Such and such a star was so many millions of miles off. We opened our eyes to the proper degree of width and[pg 134]observed,“Bless me!”or,“You don’t say so?”Instantly he would rejoin,“Ah, but that’s nothing to so and so,”and then favoured us with a still more immeasurable distance. We expressed a slightly greater degree of intelligent amazement. Thereupon he nodded his head, gently inclined it a little to one side, and smiled softly. It gave him such evident pleasure to have a listener that I attended with due reverence to his enthusiastic computations; knowing my man, I felt sure that he was keeping back a real staggerer to finish up with, and was prepared to assume varying degrees of surprise up to the moment when it should come. Unfortunately I misjudged its advent, and feeling that I had somewhat lost in his estimation by evincing undue astonishment at a comparatively small array of figures, I sought to turn the conversation by requesting to know how long he thought it might be before the great rock peaks around us would have crumbled away to their bases. The calculation was too trivial and the number of millions of generations too small to interest him much, but he vouchsafed an approximate estimate.

A dream of the future

A dream of the future

I let him babble on and fell a-thinking. The peaks were crumbling away bit by bit no doubt, the glaciers shrinking. At a bound the mind leapt into a future which, after all, might be not so very unlike a past. The Alps things of the past! What, I wondered, when the mountains were all levelled down and[pg 135]smiling valleys occupied the troughs of the glaciers of to-day, would some future commentators make of the literature so industriously piled up by the members and followers of the Alpine Club? Imagination ran riot as in a dream, and I fancied some enthusiast exploring the buried city of the second Babylon and excavating the ruins of the“finest site in Europe.”I pictured to myself the surprise in store for him on digging out the effigies of some of our naval and military heroes, and the mingled feelings with which he would contemplate the unearthed statue of George IV. It seemed possible that in that far-off epoch to which my friend’s calculations had borne me, the Alpine Club itself might have ceased to exist. Pursuing his explorations in an easterly direction, the excavator might perchance have lighted on a strange tunnel, almost Arcadian in its simplicity of design, and marvelled at the curious and cheap idols of wax and wood which the people of that ancient day had evidently worshipped. Turning north again, this Schliemann of the future would pass by the ruins of S. Martin’s Church, eager to light upon the precious archives of the historic Alpine Club itself. How eagerly he would peruse the lore contained in the Club library, anxious to decipher the inscriptions and discover what manner of men they were who lived and climbed when mountains and glaciers were still to be found on this planet. Human nature would[pg 136]probably not have changed much, and the successful explorer might even have been asked to favour a scientific society of the future with the result of his discoveries, to which in all probability he would have acceded, with a degree of reluctance not quite sufficient to deter the secretary of the society from pressing him.

A condensed mountain ascent

A condensed mountain ascent

An abstract of his description of our sibylline leaves I fancied might run somewhat in this style:—After commenting on the fact that the maps and illustrations did not usually correspond in number with the list set forth in the index of the volumes unearthed, he might proceed thus:—“In pursuit of their great and glorious object these ancient heroes appear to have undergone vast personal discomfort. It is difficult therefore to realise fully why so many engaged in this form of exploration. Instances have been given by other learned antiquarians who have studied the habits of this people, of a similar purposeless disregard of comfort, such as the four-wheeled wooden boxes in which they travelled about, the seats in their churches, &c. The outset of their expedition was almost invariably characterised by a display of bad temper, attributed to early rising. After a varying number of hours of excessive toil the travellers were wont to arrive at some fearsome chasm spoken of as a‘bergschrund.’On this, if the subject-matter of their narrative was insufficient in[pg 137]quantity, they were wont to descant and enlarge at length; sometimes, as we judge, in their descriptions they enlarged the bergschrund itself. They then crossed it. Immediately after this incident they were in the habit of eating, and the minute and instructive details commonly given enable us to form a tolerably accurate opinion as to the nature of the diet with which they supported their exhausted frames. Next they traversed strange localities for which there appear to have been no adequately descriptive expressions in their own language. In fact the difficulty of deciphering these records is greatly increased by the fact that the writers were versatile linguists, for they constantly make use of words of a hybrid character. They were evidently practised meteorologists and took much interest in this subject, as may be gathered throughout from their writings. At length they reached summits, of the nature of which we in our time can have but a feeble conception. So great was their relief at the termination of their self-imposed but toilsome task, that they habitually burst forth into language characterised by a wealth of imagery and a fervour of poetic description which unfortunately conveys but little idea to us in our day of what they actually saw. In descending they were all commonly within an ace of meeting with a violent death. The mode in which the danger attacked them varied within certain restricted limits, but it always[pg 138]occurred and the escape was always narrow. The peril over, they remarked that they breathed freely again, and then at once fell to eating. Arrived at a successful termination of their wearisome labour, they advised others to do the same. They dealt out unsparing satire to their companions, unlimited praise to their guides, and unmeasured ridicule to their porter. They commonly expressed throughout their descriptions grave doubts and uncertainty as to the issue of the expedition: a curious and noteworthy fact, for the heading of the accounts always divulged at the outset their ultimate success. The construction, therefore, of their narratives was in accordance with a well-recognised model and appeared capable of little variation. The only other facts that we can glean are that they were prodigious eaters, were much pestered by some extinct species of insects, and that they make frequent allusions to a substance termed tobacco. The constant repetition of these incidents stamps upon their writings the impress of unexaggerated veracity. Still they were not universally held in favour, indeed were regarded with disapprobation by some individuals of their own race. It would seem indeed from internal evidence that, had it not been for frequent and sharp criticism of their proceedings, their pastime might never have inveigled so many persons with its seductive fascination.”

Now at the time at which these prophetic fancies[pg 139]were conjured up we had just completed an expedition which it seemed might be worthy of attention, solely on the ground of its very contradictoriness. For the features of this climb were most opposed to those already mentioned, and in fact mention of it scarcely seemed admissible in an Alpine narrative. We took no porter with us to fill the rôle of first low comedy man. We had very little to eat; our stock of wine ran out through a leaky gourd; our tobacco was wet and there was no bergschrund, and yet all this happened on a mountain close to Chamouni.

Wanted, a programme

Wanted, a programme

“Some vast amount of years ago, ere all my youth had vanished from me,”as the poet says, at a date therefore which for obvious reasons it is inexpedient here to mention, I found myself, as already mentioned, at Chamouni. With me was an old mountain friend and fellow climber, J. Oakley Maund. We were both burning with desire to add to the list of the many successful expeditions we had made together, but, as a matter of fact, were somewhat gravelled for lack of suitable matter. Like a ministry on the eve of a general election or a gentleman without a sixpenny-piece at a theatre, we were sorely in need of a programme. The locality was somewhat unfortunately chosen for those in whom the ancient spirit was not yet quite extinct and who wanted to do something new. Ever since the days when Jacques Balmat, Dr. Paccard, and the great De Saussure had donned strange apparel[pg 140]and shown the way—that is to say, for nearly a hundred years—people had been climbing mountains in the district, and it was not to be wondered at if it were hard to find some expedition which nobody else had thought of, or, worse still, had achieved. We gazed at the map and made thumb marks all over it. In every conceivable direction ran little lines indicative of previous explorations. We studied thecarte en relief, but without much hope of getting any information of value from this inaccurate and lumpy absurdity. Mont Blanc, which, according to this work of plastic art, was modelled out as some eight or ten thousand feet higher than any other point of the chain, had had all the snow worn off its summit by much fingering, so that the component pasteboard showed through. Rivers ran uphill in this map, and lakes were inclined at an angle; bits of sticking plaister represented towns and villages, and the whole article was absolutely bristling with little spikes and points like the old panoramas of London or the docks at Liverpool. Still a considerable number of people seemed willing enough to pay fifty centimes for the pleasure of indicating elaborate expeditions on it with their fore-fingers, and appeared to derive pleasure from gazing on a pasteboard misrepresentation when they could by looking out of window see the real thing for nothing. We abandoned thecarte en reliefand took Jaun and Kaspar Maurer into our confidence. The[pg 141]only suggestions that they could make were the Aiguille des Charmoz and the Dent du Géant. The former of these two peaks we had both tried to ascend in former seasons, without success. Jaun did not think then that it was possible, and without sharing his opinion we gave way to it. With regard to the latter mountain we all thought at the time that an undue amount of what is vaguely termed“artificial aid”would be necessary to ensure success, an opinion confirmed by subsequent events, for when Signor Sella achieved the honour of the first ascent he was only able to accomplish it by somewhat elaborate engineering appliances. Some bold person of an original turn of thought suggested of course a variation of some way up Mont Blanc, but the utter impossibility of discovering the slightest deviation from any previously ascended route and the utter uselessness of trying to find one caused a general shout of derision, and the bold person thereupon withdrew his suggestion and ordered some coffee. Besides, the weather was fine; every day swarms of tourists could be seen, crawling up the sides of the monarch of mountains, in numbers as many as the flies on a sugar loaf in a grocer’s window on a hot day.

One evening we sat in front of Couttet’s hotel staring pensively at the familiar outline of the row of aiguilles, and wishing we had lived in the days of Albert Smith, the best friend Chamouni ever had.[pg 142]At any rate, at that time the natives were unsophisticated and the mountains about were not all done to death. The valley between us and the chain was filled with a light haze, not sufficient to conceal the outline of the mountains but yet enough to blot out their detail and solidity. As the moon rose behind the chain we saw a strange phenomenon. A silhouette was thrown forwards on to the curtain of haze and photographed on it with sharp and clear definition, so that we could recognise, at an immense height, the shadowed peaks looking almost as massive as the actual mountains. Nor was this all; a second curtain of mist seemed to be suspended, in a vertical stratum, in front of the former one, and the shadows were again marked out on this, infinitely more magnified and less distinct, but still perfectly recognisable. As a result we were able to see the semblance of three distinct tiers of mountains one above the other, looking so massive that we could scarcely realise that they were but transparent ghosts of the peaks; and the phenomenon, a double“Brocken,”must have lasted for more than half an hour. However, we desired something more of the nature of the substance than the shadow, and ultimately came to the conclusion that it was absolutely necessary for our peace of mind to accomplish something on the morrow, and as it really mattered but little what that something might be, provided a good climb was afforded, we must yield[pg 143]to circumstances and perforce adopt the latter-day necessity of all mountaineers. If we could not find the right way up some new mountain we could at least take the wrong way up an old one.

The Aiguille du Midi

The Aiguille du Midi

So the next morning we walked up to the Pierre Pointue as a preliminary step—a good many and rather arduous steps—towards the object in view. The exertion of toiling up the zigzags or the more rarefied atmosphere had a remarkable effect on one of the party, whose face when we reached the chalet was found to be wreathed in smiles and wearing an expression of great intelligence. He had in fact become possessed of an idea. Bubbling over with self-satisfied chuckles, he suggested that we should ascend the Aiguille du Midi by the face directly in front of us and then descend on the other side, thus making a col of the mountain. The idea found favour instantly, and the intelligent person was so much pleased that he ordered a bottle of wine, plastered over with a very costly variety of label, and regretted it. Investigation of the cellar revealed only two casks of wine, but the“carte”comprised a long list of various vintages. Fired with enthusiasm and inflated withlimonade gazeuse, we left the chalet and strode vigorously up the hill in order to prospect the route and reconnoitre the rocks. The exertion and the pace soon told upon us, the sooner that it was a hot, enervating day; the kind of day that makes one perforce admire the[pg 144]ingenious benevolence of nature in fashioning out on the grassy slopes rounded inequalities, exactly adapted to those of the human figure in a seated or recumbent position. The heated air rising from the ground gave flickering and distorted views of distant objects, like unto marine phenomena viewed through the cheap panes of a seaside lodging-house window. The grasshoppers were extraordinarily busy; the bees droned through the heavy air; the ants, overcome apparently by the temperature, had given up for the time straining their jaws by their foolish practice of carrying large parcels about without any definite object, and had retired to the shady seclusion of their own heaped-up residences; the turf was most inviting. It now occurred to us that there was no absolute necessity for the whole party to ascend on the present occasion, and that perhaps the guides might go up quicker alone. The details of this suggestion were acceded to on the part of the amateurs of the party with astonishing alacrity and unanimity. We laid the scheme before the guides, and they also thought it a very fine one. Thereupon, with much parade and ceremony, they braced themselves up for great exertion, borrowed the telescope, remarked that they expected to be back some time during the night, and started upwards with somewhat over-acted eagerness. My companion and I disposed ourselves comfortably in the shade, and resumed an argument which had[pg 145]originally commenced some days previously. I waxed eloquent on the subject under discussion and with much success, for such was the force of my logic and the cogency of my reasoning that I bore down on my opponent, and reduced him in a short time to absolute silence, from which he did not awake for nearly two hours.

Ephemeral acquaintances

Ephemeral acquaintances

About this time the guides, who in all probability had also been comfortably asleep within a short distance of us, returned and gave a favourable report concerning the mountain. Elated by this news, we climbed a short distance further up, and met there a large party of ephemeral acquaintances who were taking an afternoon’s pleasure on the hills. After the manner of people when so engaged, they set forth with great energy and climbed up a steep little rock tump a few hundred yards distant. Arrived at the summit, they roared out unintelligible remarks to us, and we did the same to them till we were hoarse; we waved our hands and hats and they flourished their handkerchiefs as if they were our dearest friends on earth, just setting out on an emigrant ship for the Antipodes. The party then descended; the nearer they came the less friendly and demonstrative were we, and by the time we met the warmth of affection recently manifested on both sides had wholly evaporated, and we conversed in ordinary tones on indifferent topics. Then they set out for another little hill,[pg 146]and we were moved, apparently by some uncontrollable impulse, to go through the same idiotic performance. Emotional behaviour of a similar kind is not infrequently observed in the mountains. We journeyed together back to the Pierre Pointue, viewing each other with distrust and suspicion; and when it was found that we had bespoken the beds—if the exaggerated packing-cases lined with straw bags could be considered such—we parted on terms the reverse of friendly. So frail are the links that bind human affections.

A familiar character

A familiar character

Standing in front of the hut was a type of character very familiar in these tourist-frequented districts. His exterior was unpromising; his beard of a fortnight’s growth, or thereabouts, somewhat fitful withal and lacking in uniformity of development. A hard hat, with a shining green veil folded around its battered outline, decorated his head; his raiment was black and rusty, his legs cased in canvas gaiters fastened with many little girths and buckles, and in his right hand he grasped a trusty three-franc pole made of wainy deal, and surmounted at the top by a brown knob similar to those which come out suddenly when we try to open a chest of drawers in a cheap lodging. He fidgeted about for a while, asked questions in a rather loud tone of voice at us, and we felt that it was his intention to enter into conversation. It was even so. After a while he sidled up and[pg 147]requested with much diffidence to be informed what we proposed to climb on the morrow. Now the true mountaineer, however amiable his disposition, always shrinks up into his shell when such a question is put to him on the eve of an expedition. My companion indicated by a sweep of the arm a space of territory extending about from the Mont Buet on the one side round to the Aiguille de Gouté on the other. Our friend surveyed from end to end the extensive panorama suggested, then looked seriously at us and observed that we should probably find it a fine walk. We expressed gravely the opinion that he was quite right, and then went in to dinner, while our composite friend expatiated on the project to his companions as an expedition but little out of the ordinary run, and one that he was perfectly prepared to undertake himself if so disposed; then he resumed his contemplation of a rock some ninety feet or so in height jutting out through the glacier above, which he was under the impression was a lady descending from Mont Blanc. We did not learn his name, but the individual may, nevertheless, possibly be recognised. Some points of the argument were still unsettled when we climbed over the edges of our respective boxes and vanished into the strawy depths below. The clear moonlight streamed in through the window and prevented sleep; so I lay in my wooden box thinking over the recent discussion, but with such a distinct intention—[pg 148]like little Paul Dombey with Mrs. Pipchin—of fixing my companion presently, that even that hardy old mountaineer deemed it prudent to counterfeit slumber.

In the small hours of the morning we got under weigh. For some time we had been leading a life of sloth in Chamouni, and the delight of finding ourselves once more on the mountain path, and making for a rock climb, entirely precluded that fractiousness which, as all readers of Alpine literature know, ought properly to be described at this period of an expedition. The path was irregular and demanded some equanimity, for the stumbling-blocks were innumerable and artfully placed to trip up the unwary in an aggravating manner. Feeling it unfair that all the work should be thrown on the guides, I had volunteered, rather magnanimously, to bear part of the burden, and selected the lantern as my share. By this means it was not only possible to walk in comfort over a well-lighted track, but the bearer was enabled also to regulate the pace to a speed convenient to his own feelings. Before long, however, we reached the lower snow patches of the Glacier des Pélèrins, and the light was no longer necessary.

Halting doubts and fears

Halting doubts and fears

We made straight across the crisp snow to the base of a promising-looking rock buttress lying to the right of the snow gully that runs up the side of the mountain, feeling sure that either by the rocks or the snow a[pg 149]way up could be found. And now I am painfully conscious of a glaring defect in this Alpine narrative. A mountain ascent without a bergschrund is as tame as a steeplechase without a water jump, but candour compels the admission that no bergschrund was visible. Either we had hit on a spot where the orthodox chasm was filled up for the time, or else this particular glacier was an exception to all others previously treated of in mountain literature. In a few seconds we found ourselves on the rocks, delighted to exchange the monotonous mode of progression compulsory on snow for the varied gymnastic exercises demanded on rocks. The sun had risen, the axes clanked merrily against the stones, the snow was in good condition for walking, everything seemed favourable, and we gazed down complacently on the distance already traversed. Above us the mountain was broken up and easy, and we climbed on rapidly, each in the fashion that seemed best to him. So good was our progress at first, that we were already far up the buttress, and could barely see our morning’s tracks in the snow beneath, when a halt was called for breakfast, and we had time to look around. Now, however unconventional this expedition may have been in many respects, the sagacious student of Alpine literature will know that it must be wholly impossible to omit all reference to the weather. As soon might one expect two prosaic persons of slight acquaintanceship to abjure the topic at a chance[pg 150]meeting. The western sky wore a rather ominous look of half mourning, and heavy grey and black clouds were whirling about and forming up in close order in a manner suggestive of rising wind. Even at this stage of the proceedings the thought crossed our minds that the storm which was evidently brewing might possibly overtake us, and that perhaps we ought at once to turn back.

The storm gathers

The storm gathers

One thing was evident; that we must decide quickly, whatever we did. We determined to push on for a while, and with that intent girded ourselves with the rope and worked our way on to the top of the first buttress. At this point, further progress directly upwards was impossible, and we were compelled to cross the gully and make for the rock on the left-hand side. Considerable care is always necessary in crossing, horizontally, a gully filled with snow, where the rope is rather a source of danger than of security. We had to give all our attention to the passage, and when we reached the rocks opposite, the climbing, though not formidable, was still sufficiently difficult to occupy all our thoughts for the moment, and we had but little leisure, and perhaps but little inclination, for meteorological observations. At the top of the rocks a promising snow slope, stretching upwards with gentle curves and sweeps, seemed to offer a fair prospect of rapid progress. Such snow slopes are at all times a little[pg 151]deceptive. Even when the climber is close to them they look oftentimes much easier than they immediately after prove to be. From a distance, say from under the verandah of a comfortable hotel, when the climberin posseindicates the way he would pursue with the end of his cigar, they are absurdly easy. So, too, are obstacles in the hunting-field, such as stiff hedges and uncompromising gates, easy enough when the Nimrod studies them as he whirls along in an express train. Subsequently, when immediately associated with a horse, these same obstacles assume a different guise. Then are the sentiments of the hunter prone to become modified, and compassion for dumb beasts becomes more prominent in thethoughtfulvotary of the chase, till finally it may be observed that the little wits jump sometimes more than the great ones. Even so does the mountaineer often discover, on a nearer acquaintance that the snow incline up which he proposed to stride merrily is inclined at a highly inconvenient angle. However, at the commencement of our slope we found the snow in good condition, and advanced quickly for some little distance, but before we had got very far it was necessary to resort to the axe, and we had then ample opportunities of looking round. The clouds were lowering more and more, but as they were swept up by a sou’westerly wind, the intervening mass of the mountain prevented us from seeing thoroughly what might be in store for us.[pg 152]The wind, too, was growing stronger every minute, and my companion, who was still pursuing his argument, and, as it appeared subsequently, making some rather good points, had to exert himself considerably in order to make his voice heard.

Presently we halted for a few minutes on some spiky little rocks, and again looked about. The weather prospects were just in that doubtful state that prompts every member of the party to ask the others what they think. Maurer looked exceedingly vacant and made no remark. Jaun put a bit of snow in his mouth, but declined to give an opinion. We, not to be outdone, assumed very profound expressions, as if prepared to find ourselves in the right whatever happened, but, following the example of Lord Burleigh in the famous tragedy, we said nothing either. At last, some one suggested that we might go on for a little, and then see. Accordingly we went on for a little, but then as a matter of fact the mists swept up around us and we did not see anything at all. It was, no doubt, inconvenient that we were unable to penetrate with our gaze to the regions above, but still we felt that there was one slight counterbalancing advantage, for there was present the haunting consciousness that the gigantic telescope of Chamouni was pointed in our direction, and at least the enveloping mist ensured that privacy which is not always accorded to climbers pursuing their pastime within range of these instruments of science.

“From gay to grave”

“From gay to grave”

In the hope that the condition of the upper snow might be good, and perhaps rather mistaken in the height we had already reached, we made up our minds to push on, with the view of reaching at any rate the top of the ridge before the storm broke. Every now and again a rent in the clouds above, lasting for a few seconds, showed us that the wind was blowing with great force, as thin clouds of loose snow were swept up and whirled along the face in curling wreaths. The spectacle might not, at first sight, have been thought highly diverting: yet as we pointed upwards to the ridge and watched the racing snow-drifts driving over the slopes we were making for, we all laughed very heartily. So universal is the tendency to be amused at the sight of discomfort that it even extends to the contemplation of its occurring shortly to oneself. In the paulo-post-future the experience is exhilarating: in the actual present it is less laughter-moving. Laughter in the presence of events that are, in the true sense of the word, sensational, comes almost as a reflex action (to borrow an expression from the physiologists), and the sympathetic distress that follows takes an appreciable time to develop. I can recall once being a witness with some others of a ghastly accident by which several people were precipitated, together with a mass of broken timbers and débris of all sorts, from a great height. A door was burst open and the ruin met our eyes suddenly. To this day I can[pg 154]remember sounds of laughter at the first view—hysterical if you like to call it so, and not mirthful, but still laughter. In a few seconds the realisation of what had happened came, and then came the distress and with it expressions of horror, as all worked manfully to help and rescue the sufferers. The sequence of emotions was perfectly natural, and only they who have never passed through such an experience would speak of inhumanity. There is no want of humanity in the matter. The suddenness of the impression begets the train of emotions, and the brain grasps the facts but slowly. To take another instance: I have been told by a man whose quickness and presence of mind were remarkable—a man who as a schoolboy won a Royal Humane Society’s medal—that on one occasion he witnessed a friend fall over a staircase from a great height. The accident was in the highest degree unexpected: and the witness walked leisurely on as if nothing had happened. But in a few seconds came like a severe blow the sudden realisation of what had taken place. Thought is not always quick. We can no more exert our minds to their fullest capacity on a sudden than we can put forth our utmost physical strength on a sudden. Action when almost instantaneous is independent of the higher mental faculties, and is but a reflex. The experience of those who have been in railway accidents will be of the same nature. In climbing up a very steep or difficult place[pg 155]if a man falls all are prepared more or less for such an accident. The whole attention is given to guarding against a probable contingency, and it follows that the mind can instantly realise its occurrence. And that such is the case I have been unlucky enough to witness, though most fortunately the fall was attended with no serious consequences. On the same principle, to take a more trivial example, on difficult rocks it is the rarest possible accident for a man to sprain his ankle or knee. The muscles are always prepared for a possible slip and kept in tension on the alert. On the loose moraine, when walking leisurely or carelessly, such an accident is a thousand times more likely to occur.

The storm breaks

The storm breaks

Our leader worked away with a will, but the snow got harder at every step. The growing force of the wind, which in nautical language had increased from that vague degree known as a capful to the indefinite force of a stiff breeze, and the increasing steepness of the slope, compelled Jaun to make the steps larger and larger as we ascended. It soon became evident that the storm would overtake us long before we could hope to get on to the ridge, and that we had deliberately walked into something of a trap. The steps had been cut so far apart that to descend by the same line would have involved the construction of a fresh staircase, and on actually turning, we found that what was a stiff breeze behind us was a half gale when it met our faces. It was certainly easier to go on[pg 156]than to go back; so we went further and fared much worse. The slope became steeper, the ice harder, the half gale became a whole gale, and the delay between each step seemed interminable. Suddenly, as we passed from under the lee of a projecting slope on our right, a tremendous gust of wind, which seemed to have waited for a few moments in order to collect its full forces, swept suddenly down and almost tore us from our foothold. With that a torrent of hail fell, and for a few moments we had enough to do to hold on where we stood. Even my companion’s conversation slackened. He had astutely selected a place in the caravan immediately behind me, and as the gale was blowing directly on our backs was enabled to fire off his remarks and arguments without any possibility of response. Anything that I said in answer was audible only to our leader, who took not the smallest interest in the discussion. Unfortunately, too, it was difficult to listen with any attention; for as the gusts came on we were forced to swing all our faces round like chimney cowls instantly in the same direction. The squalls became more frequent and more violent, the thunder and lightning played around merrily, and as the wind howled by we had to throw ourselves flat against the slope, adopting the undignified attitudes of a deer-stalker nearing the brow of a Scotch hill—attitudes which bring somewhat unduly into prominence the inadequate nature of the national costume.[pg 157]Fortunately, as has been said, we were screened from view; and our poses, though possibly ungraceful, were at any rate uncriticised. The big hailstones, falling softly around, filled up the steps as they were made, and our feet were buried up to the ankles in a moment. In a minute or two the hurricane passed for the time; then we arose, shook ourselves, smiled at nothing in particular, and the leader would find time during the comparative lull to hack out three or four fresh steps. Certain sounds, not accounted for by the elements, coming up from below, may have been suggestions or may have been arguments, but they were knocked out of all intelligible shape before they reached the head of the caravan. Not even the porter at Lloyd’s or the captain of a merchantman could have made himself audible in that cyclone. Upwards we went, fighting for each step and for each yard gained as hard as if we were storming a fortress. Even while the leader had his axe in the air ready to deliver a fresh blow a distant roar would betoken another onslaught, and we instantly fell flat down like tin soldiers struck with the well-directed pea, and disposed ourselves at a convenient angle of resistance; and so we went on, when we did go on at all. If the relation is wearisome it is also realistic, for we found that the actual experience was far from being lively; but all things must have an end, including even thefeuilletonin a Parisian newspaper or the walk up to[pg 158]the Bel Alp on a hot day, and the termination came almost unexpectedly.

A battle with the elements

A battle with the elements

We had got thoroughly tired of perpetually clinging on by the simple force of adhesion to the storm-swept slope, and felt almost inclined to give up the struggle against the elements and to go straight on trusting to chance. Maurer, below, wore the expression of frowning discontent best seen in amateur tenors singing a tender love ditty. Jaun had remarked half-a-dozen times that the very next squall would infallibly sweep us all away, and his cheerful prophetic utterances really seemed on the point of being fulfilled, when, almost suddenly, the snow seemed to vanish from under our feet, and we found ourselves on the summit of the ridge; at least directly above us no more ascent appeared to present. It was difficult to realise adequately the exact direction in which we were facing, but I suppose that as the ridge runs about north and south by the compass, we were facing a little south of east. This was an important matter to decide, as the mist was gathered thick around and the idea of descent had to be at once considered now that we had got to a position of some degree of definiteness. At our feet the snow slope fell away in a manner so distinct that we were without doubt really on the top of some portion of the ridge. The difficulty was to estimate how far to our right the summit of the Aiguille du Midi itself lay. However, we felt with relief the truth of[pg 159]somebody’s remark that we had at length succeeded in getting somewhere; so far, no doubt, matters were satisfactory. Howbeit, our pleasure was somewhat modified by the discovery that the gale blew with considerably more force on the south-east side than it did on the one by which we had ascended. We looked towards the south and endeavoured to gather our wits together to elucidate the geographical problem that presented. At the foot of the slope must lie the upper basin of the Vallée Blanche and the Glacier de Tacul; unfortunately there seemed to be a prodigious storm going on in that basin, and clouds of loose snow were whirling about in all directions. It was impossible to understand these winds; one might have thought that Æolus had just stepped out to attend a committee meeting of the gods, and that all his subordinates were having high jinks during his absence.

Beating the air

Beating the air

The possibility of actually completing the ascent of the mountain seemed out of the question, and the hope that we might have crept under the shelter of the ridge to the final little rock cone of the Aiguille was literally thrown to the winds. Here again, therefore, this narrative is highly unconventional, for it is impossible to consult M. Roget’s“Thesaurus”and indulge with its aid in any grandiloquent description of the view from the summit, although my account has now reached the stage at[pg 160]which such word painting ought properly to be inserted. We turned to our right, the direction in which the peak lay, and walked some little way along the ridge till we got under shelter of a rock; now we were able once more to stand upright and, huddled together, took the opportunity which had been denied to us for some hours to interchange views. All agreed that the situation was vile; that word, at least, may be taken as the resultant of the various forcible epithets actually employed. All agreed that the cold was intense, the prospect doubtful, and the panoramanil. There was but one redeeming feature: extreme discomfort will reveal humour in those in whom that quality would not be expecteda priorito find a dwelling-place, and to each one of us the spectacle of his three wobegone companions seemed to afford, if not amusement, at least an inkling of complacency. Maurer removed the pack from his shoulders, and it was then perceived that our cup of misery was full, and our sole remaining bottle of wine completely empty. We had originally started with two, one white and one red, of an inferior and indigestible quality, but had left the white wine down below on the snow; we had previously drunk it. The other bottle had broken against some projecting rock in climbing up, and the resulting leakage had led to the formation of a very large circular red patch in the small of Maurer’s back, wherever that anatomical region might be[pg 161]situated in our squat and sturdy little guide. After muttering together in patois for a little while the guides seized their axes and suddenly commenced with great vigour to hack out a large hole in the ice. We fell to also, and for some few minutes all worked away with the best of good will; the splinters and little blocks of ice flew around under our blows, and before long we had excavated a flat basin capable of holding water. At the least, the exercise had the effect of warming us, and Maurer, who previously, from the effects of the cold, had been the colour of a congested alderman in the face, gradually assumed a more healthy hue. We now inquired what the object might be of preparing this cavern. Thereupon Jaun gave vent to the ingenious suggestion that we had better remain where we were and sleep in it. The idea seemed too likely to lead to permanent repose to be commendable, and we received his proposition, as befitted its nature, with some coolness, remarking that on the whole we should prefer to go home. This view led to further conversation; ultimately we descended a few feet on the south-east side and then made our way along the face of the slope in a south-westerly direction towards the hut on the Aiguille du Midi. The snow was soft, and we went on for some distance without difficulty, till we again reached the ridge on the south-west side of the Aiguille, having thus passed round the base of the final peak of the mountain, which consists of a[pg 162]comparatively small rocky cone jutting up from the main ridge. We were still of course a long way from the hut, but as in this situation we were much more sheltered, we took the opportunity to review the state of affairs and to consider our position, which for the moment, like that of the pocket of a lady’s ball dress, was indeterminate. What were we to do? As with the diners at“Prix fixe”restaurant, there were three courses for us: we might go down on one side, we might descend on the other side, or we might remain where we were. The latter alternative was as distasteful now as it had been just previously, and it was negatived decisively.“Very good,”said the guides;“if you won’t stay here we must go down that way,”and they pointed in a direction westerly by the compass. My companion and I were opposed to this plan for two reasons: one that the route would, if it led anywhere in particular, take us down to the Glacier des Bossons, where we did not want to go, the other that by reason of the marvellous fury of the hurricane it would have been altogether impossible to follow at all the line indicated. We were only in fact able to dart out from under shelter of the rock and peer down into the misty depths for a few seconds at a time, for the gale took our breath away as completely as in the“cavern of the winds”at Niagara. To have climbed down a new and difficult rock cliff in the face of the numbing cold would have been little short of suicidal.

Descent down Vallée Blanche

Descent down Vallée Blanche

It is Artemus Ward, I think, who describes the ingenious manner in which Baron Trenck, of prison-breaking fame, escaped on one occasion from durance vile. For fifteen long years the Baron had lain immured, and had tried in vain to carry out all the sensational methods of escape ever suggesting themselves to his fertile brain. At last an idea occurred to him. He opened the door and walked out. By an intellectual effort of almost equal brilliancy and originality we solved the difficulty that beset us: we turned towards the south-east and walked quietly down the slope for a hundred feet or so. Simplicity of thought is characteristic of great minds. Why, nevertheless, it had not occurred to us before to escape by this line I can no more explain than I can give the reason why all the ladies in a concert-room smile, as one woman, when a singer of their own sex makes her appearance on the platform, or why itinerant harp players always wear tall hats. Immediately the complexion of affairs brightened up. The wind was much less furious than it had been on the ridge, and the hail was replaced by snow. Jaun now gave it as his opinion that the best line of descent would consist in crossing round the head of the Vallée Blanche and the upper slopes of the Glacier du Géant, so as to join the ordinary route leading from the Col du Géant to the Montanvert. But in the thick mist it would have been far from easy to hit off the right track, and we[pg 164]thought it possible to make a short cut to the same end, and to find a way directly down the Vallée Blanche towards the rocks known as the Petit Rognon. We had no compass with us, but the direction of the slope indicated the proper line of descent to follow. In most years it would not be easy to discover the way through the complicated crevasses of the ice-fall situated between the“Rognon”and the easterly rocks of the Aiguille du Midi; but in 18— so much snow had fallen early in the spring and so little had melted during the summer, that we experienced comparatively little difficulty in descending almost in a straight line. During this part of the expedition the good qualities of our guides showed once more to advantage. Unquestionably while on the ridge they had put forward suggestions which were rather wild in character, and which were proved now to be mistaken. The intense cold and the beating of the storm seemed rather to have paralysed their usually calm judgment, and it is an odd fact that guides, even when first rate, are oftentimes more affected by such conditions than are the amateurs whom they conduct. We could no more, with such experience as we possessed, have led the way aright as our leader did with unerring sagacity, than an untutored person could write out a full orchestra score. We could only insist on a given line being taken if in their judgment it were possible. Once fairly started, we felt that we[pg 165]must push our plan through, employing the same form of argument as the man did in support of a bold statement that a certain beaver, closely pursued by a dog, had climbed up a tree. It was not a question now whether we could do it, or could not do it; we had to do it. The day was far spent, there was possibly much difficult work before us, and the exertion already undergone had been tolerably severe. The temptation was therefore great rather to scamp the work of finding the best and safest track through the ice-fall, but our leader displayed as much care and thoroughness as if he were strolling over snow slopes with a critical Chamouni guide behind him. A momentary glimpse of the familiar form of the Aiguille du Géant right in front of us confirmed the judgment that we were on the right track. In descending the ice-fall we passed to the right of the Petit Rognon, and at the base of the Séracs halted and thought we would have something to eat. Maurer produced our stock of provisions, which consisted of one roll studded with little bits of broken glass and reduced by the action of wine and water to the consistence of a poultice. The refection was, therefore, as unsatisfactory as a meal out of a loosely tied nosebag to a cab horse. And now for another departure from time-honoured custom. All mountain narratives at this period of the day make reference to the use of tobacco, the well-earned pipe, and so forth. But the sleety rain,[pg 166]which for the last hour and a half had replaced the snow, had soaked everything so thoroughly that an attempt to carry out the orthodox proceeding did not, like most failures, end in smoke. So we trudged on again empty and unsolaced.

A scanty repast

A scanty repast

As the shades of night were falling, four dripping and woe-begone travellers might, to borrow the novelist’s common mode of expression, have been observed toiling up the steep path towards the old Montanvert hotel—that is, they might have been observed by anybody who was foolish enough to be out of doors on such a detestable evening. We entered the familiar little room, an ingenious compound of a toyshop and a barrack, and notwithstanding that we were viewed with marked disfavour by the other guests therein assembled in consequence of our moist and steamy condition, we seated ourselves and called for refreshment. The atmosphere in the stuffy den called the salon was a trifle pungent, and having contributed a little additional dampness to the apartment we set off again. That familiar old room with its odd collection of curiosities, in which the fare was on the whole more disproportionate to the price than at any other institution of a similar kind in the mountains, has ceased to exist long ago. I fancy that it did not require much pulling down. It is happily replaced now by one of the best managed and most comfortable mountain hotels to be found in the Alps, a sure sign[pg 167]of which attraction is to be found in the fact that it is, at any rate, spoken of with disfavour by the inhabitants of the village below or by such as do not hold shares. Another hour’s descent and we passed through the few scattered houses just outside Chamouni. The attractions on the way down had not diverted us from our stern purpose of reaching Couttet’s hotel as soon as possible. We had politely declined the invitation of a perennially knitting young woman to view a live chamois. The spasmodic smile called up by each approaching tourist faded from her countenance as we passed by. Four times did we decline the gentle refreshment oflimonade gazeuse, once did we sternly refuse to partake of strawberries, and twice to purchase crystals. It was dark as we neared the town; it may have been my fancy, but I cannot help thinking that I perceived our old friend the blind beggar with the lugubrious expression which he wore when on duty, and with the tall hat which served the purpose of an alms’-box, and which he did not wear when on duty, enjoying himself in a very merry manner by the side of a blazing fire. Notwithstanding that night had fallen there was still a little group by the bridge round the one-armed telescope man, anxiously crowding to hear the last news of the two insane Englishmen who had without doubt perished that day miserably on the rocks of the Midi. A project had already been started to organise an expedition on the morrow to search for the bodies; and[pg 168]we might very possibly, if we had cared for the excitement, have been allowed to join the party.

A projected expedition

A projected expedition

As in a play the most striking situation is by the discreet author reserved to the conclusion, so in this contradictory chapter the most glaring deficiency comes now at the end. My readers, if they have generously followed me so far, will recognise that we not only went on something of a fool’s errand, incurring considerable difficulty and perhaps risk in that mission, but that we never got up the mountain at all. The force of contradictoriness can no further go. Still, it may be pointed out that we did actually accomplish all that was novel in the expedition. Once on the ridge, the remaining portion of the climb is, in fine weather, easy and well known, so the fact that the Aiguille du Midi can be ascended by this line by any one consumed with an ambition to do so, is beyond doubt. We were not probably at one point more than twenty minutes or half an hour from the actual summit. I cannot honestly advise anybody to follow our tracks; but in all probability, if someone should desire to do so, he need not, under favourable conditions, contemplate meeting with any unsurmountable difficulties.

The Aiguille du Dru from the SouthTHE AIGUILLE DU DRUFROM THE SOUTH

THE AIGUILLE DU DRUFROM THE SOUTH

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