CHAPTER XIII.

[pg 215]CHAPTER XIII.THE ASCENT OF THE DENT BLANCHE.“God help thee, Trav’ller, on thy journey far;The wind is bitter keen,—the snow o’erlaysThe hidden pits, and dang’rous hollow-ways,And darkness will involve thee.—No kind starTo-night will guide thee.”...H. Kirke White.Croz and Biener did not return until past 5A.M.on June 17, and we then set out at once for Zermatt, intending to cross the Col d’Hérens. But we did not proceed far before the attractions of the Dent Blanche were felt to be irresistible, and we turned aside up the steep lateral glacier which descends along its south-western face.The Dent Blanche is a mountain that is little known except to the climbing fraternity. It was, and is, reputed to be one of the most difficult mountains in the Alps. Many attempts were made to scale it before its ascent was accomplished. Even Leslie Stephen himself, fleetest of foot of the whole Alpine brotherhood, once upon a time returned discomfited from it.Illustration: Portrait of Leslie StephenLESLIE STEPHEN.It was not climbed until 1862; but in that year Mr. T. S. Kennedy, with Mr. Wigram, and the guides Jean B. Croz167and Kronig, managed to conquer it. They had a hard fight though before they gained[pg 216]the victory; a furious wind and driving snow, added to the natural difficulties, nearly turned the scale against them.168Mr. Kennedy started from Abricolla between 2 and 3A.M.on July 18, 1862, and ascending the glacier that is mentioned in the opening paragraph, went towards the point marked 3912 mètres upon themap;169then turned to the left (that is, to the north), and completed the ascent by the southern ridge—that which overhangs the western side of the Schönbühl glacier.Mr. Kennedy described his expedition in a very interesting paper in theAlpine Journal. His account bore the impress of truth; yet unbelievers said that it was impossible to have told (in weather such as was experienced) whether the summit had actually been attained, and sometimes roundly asserted that the mountain, as the saying is, still remained virgin.I did not share these doubts, although they influenced me to make the ascent. I thought it might be possible to find an easier route than that taken by Mr. Kennedy, and that if we succeeded in discovering one we should be able at once to refute his traducers, and to vaunt our superior wisdom. Actuated by these elevated motives, I halted my little army at the foot of the glacier, and inquired,“Which is best for us to do?—to ascend the Dent Blanche, or to cross to Zermatt?”They answered, with befitting solemnity,“We think Dent Blanche is best.”From the chalets of Abricolla the south-west face of the Dent Blanche is regarded almost exactly in profile. From thence it is seen that the angle of the face scarcely exceeds thirty degrees, and after observing this I concluded that the face would, in all probability, give an easier path to the summit than the crest of the very jagged ridge which was followed by Mr. Kennedy.We zigzagged up the glacier along the foot of the face, and looked for a way on to it. We looked for some time in vain, for a mightybergschrundeffectually prevented approach, and, like a fortress’ moat, protected the wall from assault. We went up and[pg 217]up, until, I suppose, we were not more than a thousand feet below the point marked 3912 mètres; then a bridge was discovered, and we dropped down on hands and knees to cross it.Illustration: The bergschrund on the Dent Blanche in 1865THE BERGSCHRUND ON THE DENT BLANCHE IN 1865A bergschrund, it was said onp. 182, is a schrund, and something more than a schrund. A schrund is simply a big crevasse.[pg 218]A bergschrund is frequently, although not always, a big crevasse. The term is applied to the last of the crevasses that one finds, in ascending, before quitting the glacier, and taking to the rocks which bound it. It is the mountains’ schrund. Sometimes it isverylarge, but early in the season (that is to say in the month of June or before) bergschrunds are usually snowed up, or well bridged over, and do not give much trouble. Later in the year, say in August, they are frequently very great hindrances, and occasionally are completely impassable.They are lines of rupture consequent upon unequal motion. The glaciers below move quicker than the snow or ice which clings immediately to the mountains; hence these fissures result. The slower motion of that which is above can only be attributed to its having to sustain greater friction; for the rule is that the upper portion is set at a steeper angle than the lower. As that is the case, we should expect that the upper portion would movequickerthan the lower, and it would do so, doubtless, but for the retardation of the rocks over which, and through which, it passes.170We crossed the bergschrund of the Dent Blanche, I suppose, at a height of about 12,000 feet above the level of the sea. Our work may be said to have commenced at that point. The face, although not steep in its general inclination, was so cut up by little ridges and cliffs, and so seamed with incipient couloirs, that it had all the difficulty of a much more precipitous slope. The difficulties were never great, but they were numerous, and made a very respectable total when put together. We passed the bergschrund soon after nine in the morning, and during the next eleven hours halted only five-and-forty minutes. The whole of the remainder of the time was occupied in ascending and descending the 2400 feet which compose this south-western face; and inasmuch as 1000 feet per hour (taking the mean of ascent and[pg 219]descent) is an ordinary rate of progression, it is tolerably certain that the Dent Blanche is a mountain of exceptional difficulty.The hindrances opposed to us by the mountain itself were, however, as nothing compared with the atmospheric obstructions. It is true there was plenty of,“Are you fast, Almer?”“Yes.”“Go ahead, Biener.”Biener, made secure, cried,“Come on, sir,”andMonsieurendeavoured.“No, no,”said Almer,“not there,—here,”—pointing with his bâton to the right place to clutch. Then ’twas Croz’s turn, and we all drew in the rope as the great man followed.“Forwards”once more—and so on.Five hundred feet of this kind of work had been accomplished when we were saluted (not entirely unexpectedly) by the first gust of a hurricane which was raging above. The day was a lovely one for dwellers in the valleys, but we had, long ago, noted some light, gossamer clouds, that were hovering round our summit, being drawn out in a suspicious manner into long, silky threads. Croz, indeed, prophesied before we had crossed the schrund, that we should be beaten by the wind, and had advised that we should return. But I had retorted,“No, my good Croz, you said just now‘Dent Blanche is best’; we must go up the Dent Blanche.”I have a very lively and disagreeable recollection of this wind. Upon the outskirts of the disturbed region it was only felt occasionally. It then seemed to make rushes at one particular man, and when it had discomfited him, it whisked itself away to some far-off spot, only to return, presently, in greater force than before.My old enemy—the Matterhorn—seen across the basin of the Z’Muttgletscher, looked totally unassailable.“Do you think,”the men asked,“that you, or any one else, will ever get upthatmountain?”And when, undismayed by their ridicule, I stoutly answered,“Yes, but not upon that side,”they burst into derisive chuckles. I must confess that my hopes sank; for nothing can look more completely inaccessible than the Matterhorn on its northern and north-west sides.[pg 220]“Forwards”once again. We overtopped the Dent d’Hérens.“Not a thousand feet more; in three hours we shall be on the summit.”“You meanten,”echoed Croz, so slow had been the progress. But I was not far wrong in the estimate. At 3.15 we struck the great ridge followed by Mr. Kennedy, close to the top of the mountain. The wind and cold were terrible there. Progress was oftentimes impossible, and we waited, crouching under the lee of rocks, listening to“the shrieking of the mindless wind,”while the blasts swept across, tearing off the upper snow and blowing it away in streamers over the Schönbühl glacier—“nothing seen except an indescribable writhing in the air, like the wind made visible.”Our goal was concealed by mist, although it was only a few yards away, and Croz’s prophecy, that we should stay all night upon the summit, seemed likely to come true. The men rose with the occasion, although eventheirfingers had nearly lost sensation. There were no murmurings, nor suggestions of return, and they pressed on for the little white cone which they knew must be near at hand. Stopped again; a big mass perched loosely on the ridge barred the way; we could not crawl over, and scarcely dared creep round it. The wine went round for the last time. The liquor was half-frozen,—still we would more of it. It was all gone; the bottle was left behind, and we pushed on, for there was a lull.The end came almost before it was expected. The clouds opened, and I saw that we were all but upon the highest point, and that, between us and it, about twenty yards off, there was a little artificial pile of stones. Kennedy was a true man,—it was a cairn which he had erected.“What is that, Croz?”“Homme des pierres,”he bawled. It was needless to proceed farther; I jerked the rope from Biener, and motioned that we should go back. He did the same to Almer, and we turned immediately.Theydid not see the stones (they were cutting footsteps), and misinterpreted[pg 221]the reason of the retreat. Voices were inaudible, and explanations impossible.171We commenced the descent of the face. It was hideous work. The men looked like impersonations of Winter, with their hair all frosted, and their beards matted with ice. My hands were numbed—dead. I begged the others to stop.“We cannot afford to stop; we must continue to move,”was their reply. They were right; to stop was to be entirely frozen. So we went down; gripping rocks varnished with ice, which pulled the skin from the fingers. Gloves were useless; they became iced too, and the bâtons slid through them as slippery as eels. The iron of the axes stuck to the fingers—it felt red-hot; but it was useless to shrink, the rocks and the axes had to be firmly grasped—no faltering would do here.We turned back at 4.12P.M., and at 8.15 crossed the bergschrund again, not having halted for a minute upon the entire descent. During the last two hours it was windless, but time was of such vital importance that we pressed on incessantly, and did not stop until we were fairly upon the glacier. Then we took stock of what remained of the tips of our fingers. There was not much skin left; they were perfectly raw, and for weeks afterwards I was reminded of the ascent of the Dent Blanche by the twinges which I felt when I pulled on my boots. The others escaped with some slight frost-bites; and, altogether, we had reason to congratulate ourselves that we got off so lightly. The men complimented me upon the descent, and I could do the same honestly to them. If they had worked less vigorously, or harmoniously, we should have been benighted upon the face, where there was not a single spot upon which it was possible to sit; and if that had happened, I do not think that one would have survived to tell the tale.We made the descent of the glacier in a mist, and of the[pg 222]moraine at its base, and of the slopes below, in total darkness, and regained the chalets of Abricolla at 11.45P.M.We had been absent eighteen and a half hours, and out of that time had been going not less than seventeen. That night we slept the sleep of those who are thoroughly tired.172Illustration: Portrait of T. S. KennedyT. S. KENNEDY.Two days afterwards, when walking into Zermatt, whom should we meet but Mr. Kennedy.“Hullo!”we said,“we have just seen your cairn on the top of the Dent Blanche.”“No, you haven’t,”he answered, very positively.“What do you mean?”“Why, that you cannot have seen my cairn, because I didn’t make one!”“Well, but we sawacairn.”“No doubt; it was made by a man who went up the mountain last year with Lauener and Zurfluh,”“O-o-h,”we said, rather disgusted at hearing news when we expected to communicate some,“O-o-h! good morning, Kennedy.”Before this happened, we managed to lose our way upon the Col d’Hérens; but an account of that must be reserved for the next chapter.[pg 223]CHAPTER XIV.LOST ON THE COL D’HÉRENS.—MY SEVENTH ATTEMPT TO ASCEND THE MATTERHORN.“Oh! ye immortal gods, where in the world are we?”Cicero.We should have started for Zermatt about 7A.M.on the 18th, had not Biener asked to be allowed to go to mass at Evolène, a village about two and a half hours from Abricolla. He received permission, on the condition that he returned not later than mid-day, but he did not come back until 2.30P.M., and we thereby got into a pretty little mess.The pass which we were about to traverse to Zermatt—the Col d’Hérens—is one of the few glacier-passes in this district which have been known almost from time immemorial. It is frequently crossed in the summer season, and is a very easy route, notwithstanding that the summit of the pass is 11,417 feet above the level of the sea.173From Abricolla to the summit the way lies chiefly over the flat Glacier de Ferpècle. The walk is of the most straightforward kind. The glacier rises in gentle undulations; its crevasses are small and easily avoided; and all you have to do, after once getting upon the ice, is to proceed due south, in the most direct manner possible. If you do so, in two hours you should be upon the summit of the pass.We tied ourselves in line, of course, when we entered upon the[pg 224]glacier, and placed Biener to lead, as he had frequently crossed the pass; supposing that his local knowledge might save us some time upon the other side. We had proceeded, I believe, about half-way up, when a little, thin cloud dropped down upon us from above. It was so light and gauzy, that we did not for a moment suppose it would become embarrassing, and hence I neglected to note at the proper moment the course which we should steer,—that is to say, to observe our precise situation, in regard to the summit of the pass.For some little time Biener progressed steadily, making a tolerably straight track; but at length he wavered, and deviated sometimes to the right, and sometimes to the left. Croz rushed forward directly he saw this, and taking the poor young man by his shoulders gave him a good shaking, told him that he was an imbecile, to untie himself at once, and to go to the rear. Biener looked half-frightened, and obeyed without a murmur. Croz led off briskly, and made a good straight track for a few minutes. Then, it seemed to me, he began to move steadily round to the left. I looked back, but the mist was now too thick to see our traces, and so we continued to follow our leader. At last the others (who were behind, and in a better position to judge) thought the same as I did, and we pulled up Croz to deliver our opinion. He took our criticism in good part, but when Biener opened his mouth that was too much for him to stand, and he told the young man again,“Youare imbecile; I bet you twenty francs to one thatmytrack is better thanyours; twenty francs, now then, imbecile!”Almer went to the front. He commenced by returning in the track for a hundred yards or so, and then started off at a tangent from Croz’s curve. We kept this course for half-an-hour, and then were certain that we were not on the right route, because the snow became decidedly steep. We bore away more and more to the right, to avoid this steep bank, but at last I rebelled, as we had for some time been going almost south-west, which was altogether the wrong direction. After a long discussion we[pg 225]returned some distance in our track, and then steered a little east of south, but we continually met steep snow-slopes, and to avoid them went right or left as the case might require.We were greatly puzzled, and could not in the least tell whether we were too near the Dent Blanche or too close to the Tête Blanche. The mists had thickened, and were now as dense as a moderate London fog. There were no rocks or echoes to direct us, and the guidance of the compass brought us invariably against these steep snow-banks. The men were fairly beaten; they had all had a try, or more than one, and at last gave it up as a bad job, and asked what was to be done. It was 7.30P.M.and only an hour of daylight was left. We were beginning to feel used up, for we had wandered about at tip-top speed for the last three hours and a half, so I said,“This is my advice; let us turn in our track, and go back as hard as ever we can, not quitting the track for an instant.”They were well content, but just as we were starting off, the clouds lifted a little, and we thought we saw the Col. It was then to our right, and we went at it with a dash. Before we had gone a hundred paces down came the mist again. We kept on nevertheless for twenty minutes, and then, as darkness was perceptibly coming on, and the snow was yet rising in front, we turned back, and by running down the entire distance managed to get clear of the Ferpècle glacier just as it became pitch dark. We arrived at our cheerless chalet in due course, and went to bed supperless, for our food was gone; all very sulky—not to say savage—agreeing in nothing except in bullying Biener.At 7A.M.on the 19th, we set out, for the third time, for the Col d’Hérens. It was a fine day, and we gradually recovered our tempers as we saw the follies which had been committed on the previous evening. Biener’s wavering track was not so bad; but Croz had swerved from the right route from the first, and had traced a complete semicircle, so that when we stopped him we were facing Abricolla—whence we had started. Almer had commenced with great discretion; but he kept on too long, and crossed[pg 226]the proper route. When I stopped them (because we were going south-west), we were a long way up the Tête Blanche! Our last attempt was in the right direction; we were actually upon the summit of the pass, and in another ten yards we should have commenced to go down hill! It is needless to point out that if the compass had been looked to at the proper moment—that is, immediately the mist came down—we should have avoided all our troubles. It was little use afterwards, except to tell us when we were goingwrong. We arrived at Zermatt in six and a half hours’ walking from Abricolla, and Seller’s hospitable reception set us all right again.On the 20th we crossed the Théodule pass, and diverged from its summit up the Théodulhorn (11,391) to examine a route which I suggested for the ascent of the Matterhorn. Before continuing an account of our proceedings, I must stop for a minute to explain why this new route was proposed, in place of that up the south-western ridge.The main peak of the Matterhorn may be divided into three sections.174The first, facing the Z’Muttgletscher, looks completely unassailable; the second, facing the east, seems inaccessibility itself; whilst the third, facing Breil, does not look entirely hopeless. It was from this last direction that all my previous attempts were made. It was by the south-western ridge, it will be remembered, that not only I, but Mr. Hawkins, Professor Tyndall, and the chasseurs of Val Tournanche, essayed to climb the mountain. Why then abandon a route which had been shown to be feasible up to a certain point?I gave it up for four reasons. 1. On account of my growing disinclination for arêtes, and preference for snow and rock-faces (seeChap. XII.). 2. Because I was persuaded that meteorological disturbances (by which we had been baffled several times) might be expected to occur again and again175(see Chaps. IV. and VI.).[pg 227]3. Because I found that the east face was a gross imposition—it looked not far from perpendicular; while its angle was, in fact, scarcely more than 40°. 4. Because I observed for myself that the strata of the mountain dipped to the west-south-west. It is not necessary to say anything more than has been already said upon the first two of these four points, but upon the latter two a few words are indispensable. Let us consider, first, why most persons receive such an exaggerated impression of the steepness of the eastern face.Illustration: The Matterhorn from the RiffelbergTHE MATTERHORN FROM THE RIFFELBERG.When one looks at the Matterhorn from Zermatt, the mountain is regarded (nearly) from the north-east. The face that fronts the east is consequently neither seen in profile nor in full front, but almost half-way between the two; it looks, therefore, more steep than it really is. The majority of those who visit Zermatt go up to the Riffelberg, or to the Gornergrat, and from these places, the mountain naturally looks still more precipitous, because its eastern face (which is almost all that is seen of it) is viewed more directly in front. From the Riffel hotel the slope seems to be set at an angle of 70°. If the tourist continues to go southwards, and crosses the Théodule pass, he gets, at one point, immediately in front of the eastern face, which then seems to be absolutely perpendicular. Comparatively few persons correct the erroneous impressions they receive in these quarters by studying the face in profile, and most go away with a very incorrect and exaggerated idea of the precipitousness of this side of the mountain, because they have considered the question from one point of view alone.Several years passed away before I shook myself clear of my early and false impressions regarding the steepness of this side of the Matterhorn. First of all, I noticed that there were places on this eastern face where snow remained permanently all the year round. I do not speak of snow in gullies, but of the considerable slopes which are seen upon the accompanying engraving, about half-way up the face. Such beds as these could not continue to remain throughout the summer, unless the snow had been able to accumulate in the winter in large masses; and snow cannot accu[pg 228]mulate and remain in large masses, in a situation such as this, at angles much exceeding 45°.176Hence I was bound to conclude that the eastern face was many degrees removed from perpendicularity; and, to be sure on this point, I went to the slopes between the Z’Muttgletscher and the Matterhorngletscher, above the chalets of Staffel, whence the face could be seen in profile. Its appearance from this direction would be amazing to one who had seen it only from the east. It looks so totally different from the apparently sheer and perfectly unclimbable cliff one sees from the Riffelberg, that it is hard to believe the two slopes are one and the same thing. Its angle scarcely exceeds 40°.A great step was made when this was learnt. This knowledge alone would not, however, have caused me to try an ascent by the eastern face instead of by the south-west ridge. Forty degrees may not seem a formidable inclination to the reader, nor is it for only a small cliff. But it is very unusual to find so steep a gradient maintained continuously as the general angle of a great mountain-slope, and very few instances can be quoted from the High Alps of such an angle being preserved over a rise of 3000 feet.I do not think that the steepness or the height of this cliff would have deterred climbers from attempting to ascend it, if it had not, in addition, looked so repulsively smooth. Men despaired of finding anything to grasp. Now, some of the difficulties of the south-west ridge came from the smoothness of the rocks, although that ridge, even from a distance, seemed to be well broken up. How much greater, then, might not have been the difficulty of climbing a face which looked smooth and unbroken close at hand?A more serious hindrance to mounting the south-west ridge is found in the dip of its rocks to the west-south-west. The great mass of the Matterhorn, it is now well ascertained, is composed of[pg 229]regularly stratified rocks,177which rise towards the east. It has been mentioned in the text, more than once, that the rocks on some portions of the ridge leading from the Col du Lion to the summit dip outwards, and that fractured edges overhang.178This is shown in the illustrations facingpp. 76and84; and the annexed diagram, Fig. 1, exhibits the same thing still more clearly. It will be readily understood that such an arrangement is not favourable for climbers, and that the degree of facility with which rocks can be ascended that are so disposed, must depend very much upon the frequency or paucity of fissures and joints. The rocks of the south-west ridge are sufficiently provided with cracks, but if it were otherwise, their texture and arrangement would render them unassailable.179Illustration: Diagrams to show dip of strata on the MatterhornIt is not possible to go a single time upon the rocks of the south-west ridge, from the Col du Lion to the foot of the Great Tower, without observing the prevalence of their outward dip, and that their fractured edges have a tendency to overhang; nor can one fail to notice that it is upon this account the débris, which is rent off by frost, does not remainin situ, but pours down in showers over the surrounding cliffs. Each day’s work, so to speak, is cleared away; the ridge is swept clean; there is scarcely anything seen but firm rock.180[pg 230]The fact that the mountain is composed of a series of stratified beds was pointed out long ago. De Saussure remarked it, and recorded explicitly, in hisTravels(§ 2243), that they“rose to the north-east at an angle of about 45°.”Forbes noticed it also; and gave it as his opinion that the beds were“less inclined, or nearly horizontal.”He added,“De Saussure is no doubt correct.”181The truth, I think, lies between the two.I was acquainted with both of the above-quoted passages, but did not turn the knowledge to any practical account until I re-observed the same fact for myself. It was not until after my repulse in 1863, that I referred the peculiar difficulties of the south-west ridge to the dip of the strata; but when once persuaded that structure and not texture was the real impediment, it was reasonable to infer that the opposite side, that is to say the eastern face, might be comparatively easy. In brief, that an arrangement should be found likeFig. 2, instead of likeFig. 1. This trivial deduction was the key to the ascent of the Matterhorn.The point was, Did the strata continue with a similar dip throughout the mountain? If they did, then this great eastern face, instead of being hopelessly impracticable, should be quite the reverse.—In fact, it should be a great natural staircase, with steps inclining inwards; and, if it were so, its smooth aspect might be of no account, for the smallest steps, inclined in this fashion, would afford good footing.They did so, as far as one could judge from a distance. When snow fell in the summer time, it brought out long, terraced lines upon the mountain; rudely parallel to each other; inclined in the direction shown (approximately) upon the figures in the accompanying plate; and the eastern face, on those occasions, was often whitened almost completely over; while the other sides, with the[pg 231]exception of the powdered terraces, remained black—for the snow could not rest upon them.Illustration: The Matterhorn from the summit of the Theodule PassTHE MATTERHORN FROM THE SUMMIT OF THE THEODULE PASS.Illustration: The Matterhorn from the North-EastTHE MATTERHORN FROM THE NORTH-EAST.THE SPACES BETWEEN THE PARALLEL RED LINES REPRESENT ON AN AVERAGE A VERTICAL HEIGHT OF ABOUT 60 FEET, BUT, ON ACCOUNT OF FORESHORTENING, THE HEIGHT BETWEEN THE UPPERMOST LINES IS SOMEWHAT MORE THAN THIS AMOUNT.The very outline of the mountain, too, confirmed the conjecture that its structure would assist an ascent on the eastern face, although it opposed one on all other sides. Look at any photograph of the peak from the north-east (or, failing one, theoutline facing page 230, which is carefully traced from one), and you will see that upon the right-hand side (that facing the Z’Muttgletscher) there is an incessant repetition of overhanging cliffs, and of slopes all trending downwards; in short, that the character of the whole of that side is similar toFig. 1, p. 229; and that upon the left hand (or south-east) ridge, the forms, as far as they go, are suggestive of the structure ofFig. 2. There is no doubt that the contours of the mountain, seen from this direction, have been largely influenced by the direction of its beds.It was not, therefore, from a freak, that I invited Mr. Reilly to join in an attack upon the eastern face, but from a gradually-acquired conviction that it would prove to give the easiest path to the summit; and, if we had not been obliged to part, the mountain would, doubtless, have been ascended in 1864.My guides readily admitted that they had been greatly deceived as to the steepness of the eastern face, when they were halted to look at it in profile, as we came down the Z’Muttgletscher, on our way to Zermatt; but they were far from being satisfied that it would turn out to be easy to climb, and Almer and Biener expressed themselves decidedly averse to making an attempt upon it. I gave way temporarily before their evident reluctance, and we made the ascent of the Théodulhorn to examine an alternative route, which I expected would commend itself to them in preference to the other, as a great part of it led over snow.There is an immense gully in the Matterhorn, which leads up from the Glacier du Mont Cervin to a point high up on the[pg 232]south-eastern ridge.182I proposed to ascend this to its head, and to cross over the south-east ridge on to the eastern face. This would have brought us on a level with the bottom of the great snow-slope shown upon the centre of the eastern face in the engraving facingp. 227. This snow-slope was to be crossed diagonally, with the view of arriving at the snow upon the north-east ridge, which is shown upon the same engraving, about half-an-inch from the summit. The remainder of the ascent was to be made by the broken rocks, mixed with snow, upon the north side of the mountain. Croz caught the idea immediately, and thought the plan feasible; details were settled, and we descended to Breil. Luc Meynet, the hunchback, was summoned, and expressed himself delighted to resume his old vocation of tent-bearer; and Favre’s kitchen was soon in commotion preparing three days’ rations, for I intended to take that amount of time over the affair—to sleep on the first night upon the rocks at the top of the gully; to make a push for the summit, and to return to the tent on the second day; and upon the third to come back to Breil.We started at 5.45A.M.on June 21, and followed the route of the Breuiljoch183for three hours. We were then in full view of our gully, and turned off at right angles for it. The closer we approached, the more favourable did it look. There was a good deal of snow in it, which was evidently at a small angle, and it seemed as if one-third of the ascent, at least, would be a very simple matter. Some suspicious marks in the snow at its base suggested that it was not free from falling stones, and, as a measure of precaution, we turned off on one side, worked up under cover of the cliffs, and waited to see if anything should descend. Nothing fell, so we proceeded up its right or northern side, sometimes cutting steps up the snow and sometimes mounting by the rocks. Shortly before 10A.M.we arrived at a convenient place for a halt,[pg 233]and stopped to rest upon some rocks, immediately close to the snow, which commanded an excellent view of the gully.While the men were unpacking the food I went to a little promontory to examine our proposed route more narrowly, and to admire our noble couloir, which led straight up into the heart of the mountain for fully one thousand feet. It then bent towards the north, and ran up to the crest of the south-eastern ridge. My curiosity was piqued to know what was round this corner, and whilst I was gazing up at it, and following with the eye the exquisitely drawn curves which wandered down the snow in the gully, all converging to a large rut in its centre, I saw a few little stones skidding down. I consoled myself with thinking that they would not interfere with us if we adhered to the side. But then a larger one came down, a solitary fellow, rushing at the rate of sixty miles an hour—and another—and another. I was unwilling to raise the fears of the men unnecessarily, and said nothing to them. They did not hear the stones. Almer was seated on a rock, carving large slices from a leg of mutton, the others were chatting, and the first intimation they had of danger was from a crash—a sudden roar—which reverberated awfully amongst the cliffs, and, looking up, they saw masses of rocks, boulders and stones, big and little, dart round the corner eight hundred feet or so above us, fly with fearful fury against the opposite cliffs, rebound from them against the walls on our side, and descend; some ricochetting from side to side in a frantic manner; some bounding down in leaps of a hundred feet or more over the snow; and others trailing down in a jumbled, confused mass, mixed with snow and ice, deepening the grooves which, a moment before, had excited my admiration.The men looked wildly around for protection, and, dropping the food, dashed under cover in all directions. The precious mutton was pitched on one side, the wine-bag was let fall, and its contents gushed out from the unclosed neck, whilst all four cowered under defending rocks, endeavouring to make themselves as small as possible. Let it not be supposed that their fright was unreason[pg 234]able, or that I was free from it. I took good care to make myself safe, and went and cringed in a cleft until the storm had passed. But their scramble to get under shelter was indescribably ludicrous. Such a panic I have never witnessed, before or since, upon a mountain-side.184This ricochet practice was a novelty to me. It arose, of course, from the couloir being bent, and from the falling rocks having acquired great pace before they passed the angle. In straight gullies it will, probably, never be experienced. The rule is, as I have already remarked, that falling stones keep down the centres of gullies, and they are out of harm’s way if one follows the sides.Illustration: My tent-bearer—the hunchbackMY TENT-BEARER—THE HUNCHBACK.There would have been singularly little amusement, and very great risk, in mounting this gully, and we turned our backs upon it with perfect unanimity. The question then arose,“What is to be done?”I suggested climbing the rocks above us, but this was voted impossible. I thought the men were right, yet would not give in without being assured of the fact, and clambered up to[pg 235]settle the question. In a few minutes I was brought to a halt. My forces were scattered; the little hunchback alone was closely following me—with a broad grin upon his face, and the tent upon his shoulder; Croz, more behind, was still keeping an eye upon hisMonsieur; Almer, a hundred feet below, sat on a rock with his face buried in his hands; Biener was nowhere, out of sight.“Come down, come down,”shouted Croz;“it is useless,”and I turned at length, convinced that it was even as he said. Thus my little plan was knocked on the head, and we were thrown back upon the original scheme.We at once made a straight track for Mr. Morshead’s Breuiljoch185(which was the most direct route to take in order to get to the Hörnli, where we intended to sleep, preparatory to attacking the eastern face), and arrived upon its summit at 12.30P.M.We were then unexpectedly checked. The pass, as one, had vanished! and we found ourselves cut off from the Furggengletscher by a small but precipitous wall of rock;—the glacier had shrunk so much that descent was impracticable. During the last hour clouds had been coming up from the south; they now surrounded us, and it began to blow hard. The men clustered together, and advocated leaving the mountain alone. Almer asked, with more point than politeness,“Why don’t you try to go up a mountain whichcanbe ascended?”“It is impossible,”chimed in Biener.“Sir,”said Croz,“if we cross to the other side we shall lose three days, and very likely shall not succeed. You want to make ascents in the chain of Mont Blanc, and I believe they can be made. But I shall not be able to make them with you if I spend these days here, for I must be at Chamounix on the 27th.”There was force in what he said, and his words made me hesitate. I relied upon his strong arms for some work which it was expected would be unusually difficult. Snow began to fall; that settled the matter, and I gave the word to retreat. We went back to Breil, and on to the village of Val Tournanche, where we slept; and the next[pg 236]day proceeded to Chatillon, and thence up the Valley of Aosta to Courmayeur.I cannot but regret that the counsels of the guides prevailed. If Croz had not uttered his well-intentioned words, he might still have been living. He parted from us at Chamounix at the appointed time, but by a strange chance we met again at Zermatt three weeks later, and two days afterwards he perished before my eyes on the very mountain from which we turned away, at his advice, on the 21st of June.On June 23 we mounted to the top of Mont Saxe, to scan the Grandes Jorasses, with the view of ascending it. Five thousand feet of glacier-covered precipices rose above us, and up all that height we tracked a way to our satisfaction. Three thousand feet more of glacier and forest-covered slopes lay beneath, andthere, there was only one point at which it was doubtful if we should find a path. The glaciers were shrinking, and were surrounded by bastions of rounded rock, far too polished to please the rough mountaineer. We could not track a way across them. However, at 4A.M.the next day, under the dexterous leading of Michel Croz, we passed the doubtful spot. Thence it was all plain sailing, and at 1P.M.we gained the summit. The weather was boisterous in the upper regions, and storm-clouds driven before the wind, and wrecked against our heights, enveloped us in misty spray, which danced around and fled away, which cut us off from the material universe, and caused us to be, as it were, suspended betwixt heaven and earth, seeing both occasionally, but seeming to belong to neither.The mists lasted longer than my patience, and we descended without having attained the object for which the ascent was made. At first we followed the little ridge shown upon theaccompanying engraving, leading from our summit towards the spectator, and then took to the head of the corridor of glacier on its left, which in the view is left perfectly white. The slopes were steep and covered with new-fallen snow, flour-like and evil to tread upon. On the[pg 237]ascent we had reviled it, and had made our staircase with much caution, knowing full well that the disturbance of its base would bring down all that was above. In descending, the bolder spirits counselled trusting to luck and a glissade; the cautious ones advo[pg 238]cated avoiding the slopes and crossing to the rocks on their farther side. The advice of the latter prevailed, and we had half-traversed the snow, to gain the ridge, when the crust slipped and we went along with it.“Halt!”broke from all four, unanimously. The axe-heads flew round as we started on this involuntary glissade. It was useless, they slid over the underlying ice fruitlessly.“Halt!”thundered Croz, as he dashed his weapon in again with superhuman energy. No halt could be made, and we slid down slowly, but with accelerating motion, driving up waves of snow in front, with streams of the nasty stuff hissing all around. Luckily, the slope eased off at one place, the leading men cleverly jumped aside out of the moving snow, we others followed, and the young avalanche which we had started, continuing to pour down, fell into a yawning crevasse, and showed us where our grave would have been if we had remained in its company five seconds longer. The whole affair did not occupy half-a-minute. It was the solitary incident of a long day, and at nightfall we re-entered the excellent house kept by the courteous Bertolini, well satisfied that we had not met with more incidents of a similar description.186Illustration: The Grandes Jorasses and the Doire Torrent, from the Italian Val FerretTHE GRANDES JORASSES AND THE DOIRE TORRENT, FROM THE ITALIAN VAL FERRET.

“God help thee, Trav’ller, on thy journey far;The wind is bitter keen,—the snow o’erlaysThe hidden pits, and dang’rous hollow-ways,And darkness will involve thee.—No kind starTo-night will guide thee.”...H. Kirke White.

“God help thee, Trav’ller, on thy journey far;

The wind is bitter keen,—the snow o’erlays

The hidden pits, and dang’rous hollow-ways,

And darkness will involve thee.—No kind star

To-night will guide thee.”...

H. Kirke White.

Croz and Biener did not return until past 5A.M.on June 17, and we then set out at once for Zermatt, intending to cross the Col d’Hérens. But we did not proceed far before the attractions of the Dent Blanche were felt to be irresistible, and we turned aside up the steep lateral glacier which descends along its south-western face.

The Dent Blanche is a mountain that is little known except to the climbing fraternity. It was, and is, reputed to be one of the most difficult mountains in the Alps. Many attempts were made to scale it before its ascent was accomplished. Even Leslie Stephen himself, fleetest of foot of the whole Alpine brotherhood, once upon a time returned discomfited from it.

Illustration: Portrait of Leslie StephenLESLIE STEPHEN.

LESLIE STEPHEN.

It was not climbed until 1862; but in that year Mr. T. S. Kennedy, with Mr. Wigram, and the guides Jean B. Croz167and Kronig, managed to conquer it. They had a hard fight though before they gained[pg 216]the victory; a furious wind and driving snow, added to the natural difficulties, nearly turned the scale against them.168

Mr. Kennedy started from Abricolla between 2 and 3A.M.on July 18, 1862, and ascending the glacier that is mentioned in the opening paragraph, went towards the point marked 3912 mètres upon themap;169then turned to the left (that is, to the north), and completed the ascent by the southern ridge—that which overhangs the western side of the Schönbühl glacier.

Mr. Kennedy described his expedition in a very interesting paper in theAlpine Journal. His account bore the impress of truth; yet unbelievers said that it was impossible to have told (in weather such as was experienced) whether the summit had actually been attained, and sometimes roundly asserted that the mountain, as the saying is, still remained virgin.

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

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

We zigzagged up the glacier along the foot of the face, and looked for a way on to it. We looked for some time in vain, for a mightybergschrundeffectually prevented approach, and, like a fortress’ moat, protected the wall from assault. We went up and[pg 217]up, until, I suppose, we were not more than a thousand feet below the point marked 3912 mètres; then a bridge was discovered, and we dropped down on hands and knees to cross it.

Illustration: The bergschrund on the Dent Blanche in 1865THE BERGSCHRUND ON THE DENT BLANCHE IN 1865

THE BERGSCHRUND ON THE DENT BLANCHE IN 1865

A bergschrund, it was said onp. 182, is a schrund, and something more than a schrund. A schrund is simply a big crevasse.[pg 218]A bergschrund is frequently, although not always, a big crevasse. The term is applied to the last of the crevasses that one finds, in ascending, before quitting the glacier, and taking to the rocks which bound it. It is the mountains’ schrund. Sometimes it isverylarge, but early in the season (that is to say in the month of June or before) bergschrunds are usually snowed up, or well bridged over, and do not give much trouble. Later in the year, say in August, they are frequently very great hindrances, and occasionally are completely impassable.

They are lines of rupture consequent upon unequal motion. The glaciers below move quicker than the snow or ice which clings immediately to the mountains; hence these fissures result. The slower motion of that which is above can only be attributed to its having to sustain greater friction; for the rule is that the upper portion is set at a steeper angle than the lower. As that is the case, we should expect that the upper portion would movequickerthan the lower, and it would do so, doubtless, but for the retardation of the rocks over which, and through which, it passes.170

We crossed the bergschrund of the Dent Blanche, I suppose, at a height of about 12,000 feet above the level of the sea. Our work may be said to have commenced at that point. The face, although not steep in its general inclination, was so cut up by little ridges and cliffs, and so seamed with incipient couloirs, that it had all the difficulty of a much more precipitous slope. The difficulties were never great, but they were numerous, and made a very respectable total when put together. We passed the bergschrund soon after nine in the morning, and during the next eleven hours halted only five-and-forty minutes. The whole of the remainder of the time was occupied in ascending and descending the 2400 feet which compose this south-western face; and inasmuch as 1000 feet per hour (taking the mean of ascent and[pg 219]descent) is an ordinary rate of progression, it is tolerably certain that the Dent Blanche is a mountain of exceptional difficulty.

The hindrances opposed to us by the mountain itself were, however, as nothing compared with the atmospheric obstructions. It is true there was plenty of,“Are you fast, Almer?”“Yes.”“Go ahead, Biener.”Biener, made secure, cried,“Come on, sir,”andMonsieurendeavoured.“No, no,”said Almer,“not there,—here,”—pointing with his bâton to the right place to clutch. Then ’twas Croz’s turn, and we all drew in the rope as the great man followed.“Forwards”once more—and so on.

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

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

My old enemy—the Matterhorn—seen across the basin of the Z’Muttgletscher, looked totally unassailable.“Do you think,”the men asked,“that you, or any one else, will ever get upthatmountain?”And when, undismayed by their ridicule, I stoutly answered,“Yes, but not upon that side,”they burst into derisive chuckles. I must confess that my hopes sank; for nothing can look more completely inaccessible than the Matterhorn on its northern and north-west sides.

“Forwards”once again. We overtopped the Dent d’Hérens.“Not a thousand feet more; in three hours we shall be on the summit.”“You meanten,”echoed Croz, so slow had been the progress. But I was not far wrong in the estimate. At 3.15 we struck the great ridge followed by Mr. Kennedy, close to the top of the mountain. The wind and cold were terrible there. Progress was oftentimes impossible, and we waited, crouching under the lee of rocks, listening to“the shrieking of the mindless wind,”while the blasts swept across, tearing off the upper snow and blowing it away in streamers over the Schönbühl glacier—“nothing seen except an indescribable writhing in the air, like the wind made visible.”

Our goal was concealed by mist, although it was only a few yards away, and Croz’s prophecy, that we should stay all night upon the summit, seemed likely to come true. The men rose with the occasion, although eventheirfingers had nearly lost sensation. There were no murmurings, nor suggestions of return, and they pressed on for the little white cone which they knew must be near at hand. Stopped again; a big mass perched loosely on the ridge barred the way; we could not crawl over, and scarcely dared creep round it. The wine went round for the last time. The liquor was half-frozen,—still we would more of it. It was all gone; the bottle was left behind, and we pushed on, for there was a lull.

The end came almost before it was expected. The clouds opened, and I saw that we were all but upon the highest point, and that, between us and it, about twenty yards off, there was a little artificial pile of stones. Kennedy was a true man,—it was a cairn which he had erected.“What is that, Croz?”“Homme des pierres,”he bawled. It was needless to proceed farther; I jerked the rope from Biener, and motioned that we should go back. He did the same to Almer, and we turned immediately.Theydid not see the stones (they were cutting footsteps), and misinterpreted[pg 221]the reason of the retreat. Voices were inaudible, and explanations impossible.171

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

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

We made the descent of the glacier in a mist, and of the[pg 222]moraine at its base, and of the slopes below, in total darkness, and regained the chalets of Abricolla at 11.45P.M.We had been absent eighteen and a half hours, and out of that time had been going not less than seventeen. That night we slept the sleep of those who are thoroughly tired.172

Illustration: Portrait of T. S. KennedyT. S. KENNEDY.

T. S. KENNEDY.

Two days afterwards, when walking into Zermatt, whom should we meet but Mr. Kennedy.“Hullo!”we said,“we have just seen your cairn on the top of the Dent Blanche.”“No, you haven’t,”he answered, very positively.“What do you mean?”“Why, that you cannot have seen my cairn, because I didn’t make one!”“Well, but we sawacairn.”“No doubt; it was made by a man who went up the mountain last year with Lauener and Zurfluh,”“O-o-h,”we said, rather disgusted at hearing news when we expected to communicate some,“O-o-h! good morning, Kennedy.”Before this happened, we managed to lose our way upon the Col d’Hérens; but an account of that must be reserved for the next chapter.

[pg 223]CHAPTER XIV.LOST ON THE COL D’HÉRENS.—MY SEVENTH ATTEMPT TO ASCEND THE MATTERHORN.“Oh! ye immortal gods, where in the world are we?”Cicero.We should have started for Zermatt about 7A.M.on the 18th, had not Biener asked to be allowed to go to mass at Evolène, a village about two and a half hours from Abricolla. He received permission, on the condition that he returned not later than mid-day, but he did not come back until 2.30P.M., and we thereby got into a pretty little mess.The pass which we were about to traverse to Zermatt—the Col d’Hérens—is one of the few glacier-passes in this district which have been known almost from time immemorial. It is frequently crossed in the summer season, and is a very easy route, notwithstanding that the summit of the pass is 11,417 feet above the level of the sea.173From Abricolla to the summit the way lies chiefly over the flat Glacier de Ferpècle. The walk is of the most straightforward kind. The glacier rises in gentle undulations; its crevasses are small and easily avoided; and all you have to do, after once getting upon the ice, is to proceed due south, in the most direct manner possible. If you do so, in two hours you should be upon the summit of the pass.We tied ourselves in line, of course, when we entered upon the[pg 224]glacier, and placed Biener to lead, as he had frequently crossed the pass; supposing that his local knowledge might save us some time upon the other side. We had proceeded, I believe, about half-way up, when a little, thin cloud dropped down upon us from above. It was so light and gauzy, that we did not for a moment suppose it would become embarrassing, and hence I neglected to note at the proper moment the course which we should steer,—that is to say, to observe our precise situation, in regard to the summit of the pass.For some little time Biener progressed steadily, making a tolerably straight track; but at length he wavered, and deviated sometimes to the right, and sometimes to the left. Croz rushed forward directly he saw this, and taking the poor young man by his shoulders gave him a good shaking, told him that he was an imbecile, to untie himself at once, and to go to the rear. Biener looked half-frightened, and obeyed without a murmur. Croz led off briskly, and made a good straight track for a few minutes. Then, it seemed to me, he began to move steadily round to the left. I looked back, but the mist was now too thick to see our traces, and so we continued to follow our leader. At last the others (who were behind, and in a better position to judge) thought the same as I did, and we pulled up Croz to deliver our opinion. He took our criticism in good part, but when Biener opened his mouth that was too much for him to stand, and he told the young man again,“Youare imbecile; I bet you twenty francs to one thatmytrack is better thanyours; twenty francs, now then, imbecile!”Almer went to the front. He commenced by returning in the track for a hundred yards or so, and then started off at a tangent from Croz’s curve. We kept this course for half-an-hour, and then were certain that we were not on the right route, because the snow became decidedly steep. We bore away more and more to the right, to avoid this steep bank, but at last I rebelled, as we had for some time been going almost south-west, which was altogether the wrong direction. After a long discussion we[pg 225]returned some distance in our track, and then steered a little east of south, but we continually met steep snow-slopes, and to avoid them went right or left as the case might require.We were greatly puzzled, and could not in the least tell whether we were too near the Dent Blanche or too close to the Tête Blanche. The mists had thickened, and were now as dense as a moderate London fog. There were no rocks or echoes to direct us, and the guidance of the compass brought us invariably against these steep snow-banks. The men were fairly beaten; they had all had a try, or more than one, and at last gave it up as a bad job, and asked what was to be done. It was 7.30P.M.and only an hour of daylight was left. We were beginning to feel used up, for we had wandered about at tip-top speed for the last three hours and a half, so I said,“This is my advice; let us turn in our track, and go back as hard as ever we can, not quitting the track for an instant.”They were well content, but just as we were starting off, the clouds lifted a little, and we thought we saw the Col. It was then to our right, and we went at it with a dash. Before we had gone a hundred paces down came the mist again. We kept on nevertheless for twenty minutes, and then, as darkness was perceptibly coming on, and the snow was yet rising in front, we turned back, and by running down the entire distance managed to get clear of the Ferpècle glacier just as it became pitch dark. We arrived at our cheerless chalet in due course, and went to bed supperless, for our food was gone; all very sulky—not to say savage—agreeing in nothing except in bullying Biener.At 7A.M.on the 19th, we set out, for the third time, for the Col d’Hérens. It was a fine day, and we gradually recovered our tempers as we saw the follies which had been committed on the previous evening. Biener’s wavering track was not so bad; but Croz had swerved from the right route from the first, and had traced a complete semicircle, so that when we stopped him we were facing Abricolla—whence we had started. Almer had commenced with great discretion; but he kept on too long, and crossed[pg 226]the proper route. When I stopped them (because we were going south-west), we were a long way up the Tête Blanche! Our last attempt was in the right direction; we were actually upon the summit of the pass, and in another ten yards we should have commenced to go down hill! It is needless to point out that if the compass had been looked to at the proper moment—that is, immediately the mist came down—we should have avoided all our troubles. It was little use afterwards, except to tell us when we were goingwrong. We arrived at Zermatt in six and a half hours’ walking from Abricolla, and Seller’s hospitable reception set us all right again.On the 20th we crossed the Théodule pass, and diverged from its summit up the Théodulhorn (11,391) to examine a route which I suggested for the ascent of the Matterhorn. Before continuing an account of our proceedings, I must stop for a minute to explain why this new route was proposed, in place of that up the south-western ridge.The main peak of the Matterhorn may be divided into three sections.174The first, facing the Z’Muttgletscher, looks completely unassailable; the second, facing the east, seems inaccessibility itself; whilst the third, facing Breil, does not look entirely hopeless. It was from this last direction that all my previous attempts were made. It was by the south-western ridge, it will be remembered, that not only I, but Mr. Hawkins, Professor Tyndall, and the chasseurs of Val Tournanche, essayed to climb the mountain. Why then abandon a route which had been shown to be feasible up to a certain point?I gave it up for four reasons. 1. On account of my growing disinclination for arêtes, and preference for snow and rock-faces (seeChap. XII.). 2. Because I was persuaded that meteorological disturbances (by which we had been baffled several times) might be expected to occur again and again175(see Chaps. IV. and VI.).[pg 227]3. Because I found that the east face was a gross imposition—it looked not far from perpendicular; while its angle was, in fact, scarcely more than 40°. 4. Because I observed for myself that the strata of the mountain dipped to the west-south-west. It is not necessary to say anything more than has been already said upon the first two of these four points, but upon the latter two a few words are indispensable. Let us consider, first, why most persons receive such an exaggerated impression of the steepness of the eastern face.Illustration: The Matterhorn from the RiffelbergTHE MATTERHORN FROM THE RIFFELBERG.When one looks at the Matterhorn from Zermatt, the mountain is regarded (nearly) from the north-east. The face that fronts the east is consequently neither seen in profile nor in full front, but almost half-way between the two; it looks, therefore, more steep than it really is. The majority of those who visit Zermatt go up to the Riffelberg, or to the Gornergrat, and from these places, the mountain naturally looks still more precipitous, because its eastern face (which is almost all that is seen of it) is viewed more directly in front. From the Riffel hotel the slope seems to be set at an angle of 70°. If the tourist continues to go southwards, and crosses the Théodule pass, he gets, at one point, immediately in front of the eastern face, which then seems to be absolutely perpendicular. Comparatively few persons correct the erroneous impressions they receive in these quarters by studying the face in profile, and most go away with a very incorrect and exaggerated idea of the precipitousness of this side of the mountain, because they have considered the question from one point of view alone.Several years passed away before I shook myself clear of my early and false impressions regarding the steepness of this side of the Matterhorn. First of all, I noticed that there were places on this eastern face where snow remained permanently all the year round. I do not speak of snow in gullies, but of the considerable slopes which are seen upon the accompanying engraving, about half-way up the face. Such beds as these could not continue to remain throughout the summer, unless the snow had been able to accumulate in the winter in large masses; and snow cannot accu[pg 228]mulate and remain in large masses, in a situation such as this, at angles much exceeding 45°.176Hence I was bound to conclude that the eastern face was many degrees removed from perpendicularity; and, to be sure on this point, I went to the slopes between the Z’Muttgletscher and the Matterhorngletscher, above the chalets of Staffel, whence the face could be seen in profile. Its appearance from this direction would be amazing to one who had seen it only from the east. It looks so totally different from the apparently sheer and perfectly unclimbable cliff one sees from the Riffelberg, that it is hard to believe the two slopes are one and the same thing. Its angle scarcely exceeds 40°.A great step was made when this was learnt. This knowledge alone would not, however, have caused me to try an ascent by the eastern face instead of by the south-west ridge. Forty degrees may not seem a formidable inclination to the reader, nor is it for only a small cliff. But it is very unusual to find so steep a gradient maintained continuously as the general angle of a great mountain-slope, and very few instances can be quoted from the High Alps of such an angle being preserved over a rise of 3000 feet.I do not think that the steepness or the height of this cliff would have deterred climbers from attempting to ascend it, if it had not, in addition, looked so repulsively smooth. Men despaired of finding anything to grasp. Now, some of the difficulties of the south-west ridge came from the smoothness of the rocks, although that ridge, even from a distance, seemed to be well broken up. How much greater, then, might not have been the difficulty of climbing a face which looked smooth and unbroken close at hand?A more serious hindrance to mounting the south-west ridge is found in the dip of its rocks to the west-south-west. The great mass of the Matterhorn, it is now well ascertained, is composed of[pg 229]regularly stratified rocks,177which rise towards the east. It has been mentioned in the text, more than once, that the rocks on some portions of the ridge leading from the Col du Lion to the summit dip outwards, and that fractured edges overhang.178This is shown in the illustrations facingpp. 76and84; and the annexed diagram, Fig. 1, exhibits the same thing still more clearly. It will be readily understood that such an arrangement is not favourable for climbers, and that the degree of facility with which rocks can be ascended that are so disposed, must depend very much upon the frequency or paucity of fissures and joints. The rocks of the south-west ridge are sufficiently provided with cracks, but if it were otherwise, their texture and arrangement would render them unassailable.179Illustration: Diagrams to show dip of strata on the MatterhornIt is not possible to go a single time upon the rocks of the south-west ridge, from the Col du Lion to the foot of the Great Tower, without observing the prevalence of their outward dip, and that their fractured edges have a tendency to overhang; nor can one fail to notice that it is upon this account the débris, which is rent off by frost, does not remainin situ, but pours down in showers over the surrounding cliffs. Each day’s work, so to speak, is cleared away; the ridge is swept clean; there is scarcely anything seen but firm rock.180[pg 230]The fact that the mountain is composed of a series of stratified beds was pointed out long ago. De Saussure remarked it, and recorded explicitly, in hisTravels(§ 2243), that they“rose to the north-east at an angle of about 45°.”Forbes noticed it also; and gave it as his opinion that the beds were“less inclined, or nearly horizontal.”He added,“De Saussure is no doubt correct.”181The truth, I think, lies between the two.I was acquainted with both of the above-quoted passages, but did not turn the knowledge to any practical account until I re-observed the same fact for myself. It was not until after my repulse in 1863, that I referred the peculiar difficulties of the south-west ridge to the dip of the strata; but when once persuaded that structure and not texture was the real impediment, it was reasonable to infer that the opposite side, that is to say the eastern face, might be comparatively easy. In brief, that an arrangement should be found likeFig. 2, instead of likeFig. 1. This trivial deduction was the key to the ascent of the Matterhorn.The point was, Did the strata continue with a similar dip throughout the mountain? If they did, then this great eastern face, instead of being hopelessly impracticable, should be quite the reverse.—In fact, it should be a great natural staircase, with steps inclining inwards; and, if it were so, its smooth aspect might be of no account, for the smallest steps, inclined in this fashion, would afford good footing.They did so, as far as one could judge from a distance. When snow fell in the summer time, it brought out long, terraced lines upon the mountain; rudely parallel to each other; inclined in the direction shown (approximately) upon the figures in the accompanying plate; and the eastern face, on those occasions, was often whitened almost completely over; while the other sides, with the[pg 231]exception of the powdered terraces, remained black—for the snow could not rest upon them.Illustration: The Matterhorn from the summit of the Theodule PassTHE MATTERHORN FROM THE SUMMIT OF THE THEODULE PASS.Illustration: The Matterhorn from the North-EastTHE MATTERHORN FROM THE NORTH-EAST.THE SPACES BETWEEN THE PARALLEL RED LINES REPRESENT ON AN AVERAGE A VERTICAL HEIGHT OF ABOUT 60 FEET, BUT, ON ACCOUNT OF FORESHORTENING, THE HEIGHT BETWEEN THE UPPERMOST LINES IS SOMEWHAT MORE THAN THIS AMOUNT.The very outline of the mountain, too, confirmed the conjecture that its structure would assist an ascent on the eastern face, although it opposed one on all other sides. Look at any photograph of the peak from the north-east (or, failing one, theoutline facing page 230, which is carefully traced from one), and you will see that upon the right-hand side (that facing the Z’Muttgletscher) there is an incessant repetition of overhanging cliffs, and of slopes all trending downwards; in short, that the character of the whole of that side is similar toFig. 1, p. 229; and that upon the left hand (or south-east) ridge, the forms, as far as they go, are suggestive of the structure ofFig. 2. There is no doubt that the contours of the mountain, seen from this direction, have been largely influenced by the direction of its beds.It was not, therefore, from a freak, that I invited Mr. Reilly to join in an attack upon the eastern face, but from a gradually-acquired conviction that it would prove to give the easiest path to the summit; and, if we had not been obliged to part, the mountain would, doubtless, have been ascended in 1864.My guides readily admitted that they had been greatly deceived as to the steepness of the eastern face, when they were halted to look at it in profile, as we came down the Z’Muttgletscher, on our way to Zermatt; but they were far from being satisfied that it would turn out to be easy to climb, and Almer and Biener expressed themselves decidedly averse to making an attempt upon it. I gave way temporarily before their evident reluctance, and we made the ascent of the Théodulhorn to examine an alternative route, which I expected would commend itself to them in preference to the other, as a great part of it led over snow.There is an immense gully in the Matterhorn, which leads up from the Glacier du Mont Cervin to a point high up on the[pg 232]south-eastern ridge.182I proposed to ascend this to its head, and to cross over the south-east ridge on to the eastern face. This would have brought us on a level with the bottom of the great snow-slope shown upon the centre of the eastern face in the engraving facingp. 227. This snow-slope was to be crossed diagonally, with the view of arriving at the snow upon the north-east ridge, which is shown upon the same engraving, about half-an-inch from the summit. The remainder of the ascent was to be made by the broken rocks, mixed with snow, upon the north side of the mountain. Croz caught the idea immediately, and thought the plan feasible; details were settled, and we descended to Breil. Luc Meynet, the hunchback, was summoned, and expressed himself delighted to resume his old vocation of tent-bearer; and Favre’s kitchen was soon in commotion preparing three days’ rations, for I intended to take that amount of time over the affair—to sleep on the first night upon the rocks at the top of the gully; to make a push for the summit, and to return to the tent on the second day; and upon the third to come back to Breil.We started at 5.45A.M.on June 21, and followed the route of the Breuiljoch183for three hours. We were then in full view of our gully, and turned off at right angles for it. The closer we approached, the more favourable did it look. There was a good deal of snow in it, which was evidently at a small angle, and it seemed as if one-third of the ascent, at least, would be a very simple matter. Some suspicious marks in the snow at its base suggested that it was not free from falling stones, and, as a measure of precaution, we turned off on one side, worked up under cover of the cliffs, and waited to see if anything should descend. Nothing fell, so we proceeded up its right or northern side, sometimes cutting steps up the snow and sometimes mounting by the rocks. Shortly before 10A.M.we arrived at a convenient place for a halt,[pg 233]and stopped to rest upon some rocks, immediately close to the snow, which commanded an excellent view of the gully.While the men were unpacking the food I went to a little promontory to examine our proposed route more narrowly, and to admire our noble couloir, which led straight up into the heart of the mountain for fully one thousand feet. It then bent towards the north, and ran up to the crest of the south-eastern ridge. My curiosity was piqued to know what was round this corner, and whilst I was gazing up at it, and following with the eye the exquisitely drawn curves which wandered down the snow in the gully, all converging to a large rut in its centre, I saw a few little stones skidding down. I consoled myself with thinking that they would not interfere with us if we adhered to the side. But then a larger one came down, a solitary fellow, rushing at the rate of sixty miles an hour—and another—and another. I was unwilling to raise the fears of the men unnecessarily, and said nothing to them. They did not hear the stones. Almer was seated on a rock, carving large slices from a leg of mutton, the others were chatting, and the first intimation they had of danger was from a crash—a sudden roar—which reverberated awfully amongst the cliffs, and, looking up, they saw masses of rocks, boulders and stones, big and little, dart round the corner eight hundred feet or so above us, fly with fearful fury against the opposite cliffs, rebound from them against the walls on our side, and descend; some ricochetting from side to side in a frantic manner; some bounding down in leaps of a hundred feet or more over the snow; and others trailing down in a jumbled, confused mass, mixed with snow and ice, deepening the grooves which, a moment before, had excited my admiration.The men looked wildly around for protection, and, dropping the food, dashed under cover in all directions. The precious mutton was pitched on one side, the wine-bag was let fall, and its contents gushed out from the unclosed neck, whilst all four cowered under defending rocks, endeavouring to make themselves as small as possible. Let it not be supposed that their fright was unreason[pg 234]able, or that I was free from it. I took good care to make myself safe, and went and cringed in a cleft until the storm had passed. But their scramble to get under shelter was indescribably ludicrous. Such a panic I have never witnessed, before or since, upon a mountain-side.184This ricochet practice was a novelty to me. It arose, of course, from the couloir being bent, and from the falling rocks having acquired great pace before they passed the angle. In straight gullies it will, probably, never be experienced. The rule is, as I have already remarked, that falling stones keep down the centres of gullies, and they are out of harm’s way if one follows the sides.Illustration: My tent-bearer—the hunchbackMY TENT-BEARER—THE HUNCHBACK.There would have been singularly little amusement, and very great risk, in mounting this gully, and we turned our backs upon it with perfect unanimity. The question then arose,“What is to be done?”I suggested climbing the rocks above us, but this was voted impossible. I thought the men were right, yet would not give in without being assured of the fact, and clambered up to[pg 235]settle the question. In a few minutes I was brought to a halt. My forces were scattered; the little hunchback alone was closely following me—with a broad grin upon his face, and the tent upon his shoulder; Croz, more behind, was still keeping an eye upon hisMonsieur; Almer, a hundred feet below, sat on a rock with his face buried in his hands; Biener was nowhere, out of sight.“Come down, come down,”shouted Croz;“it is useless,”and I turned at length, convinced that it was even as he said. Thus my little plan was knocked on the head, and we were thrown back upon the original scheme.We at once made a straight track for Mr. Morshead’s Breuiljoch185(which was the most direct route to take in order to get to the Hörnli, where we intended to sleep, preparatory to attacking the eastern face), and arrived upon its summit at 12.30P.M.We were then unexpectedly checked. The pass, as one, had vanished! and we found ourselves cut off from the Furggengletscher by a small but precipitous wall of rock;—the glacier had shrunk so much that descent was impracticable. During the last hour clouds had been coming up from the south; they now surrounded us, and it began to blow hard. The men clustered together, and advocated leaving the mountain alone. Almer asked, with more point than politeness,“Why don’t you try to go up a mountain whichcanbe ascended?”“It is impossible,”chimed in Biener.“Sir,”said Croz,“if we cross to the other side we shall lose three days, and very likely shall not succeed. You want to make ascents in the chain of Mont Blanc, and I believe they can be made. But I shall not be able to make them with you if I spend these days here, for I must be at Chamounix on the 27th.”There was force in what he said, and his words made me hesitate. I relied upon his strong arms for some work which it was expected would be unusually difficult. Snow began to fall; that settled the matter, and I gave the word to retreat. We went back to Breil, and on to the village of Val Tournanche, where we slept; and the next[pg 236]day proceeded to Chatillon, and thence up the Valley of Aosta to Courmayeur.I cannot but regret that the counsels of the guides prevailed. If Croz had not uttered his well-intentioned words, he might still have been living. He parted from us at Chamounix at the appointed time, but by a strange chance we met again at Zermatt three weeks later, and two days afterwards he perished before my eyes on the very mountain from which we turned away, at his advice, on the 21st of June.On June 23 we mounted to the top of Mont Saxe, to scan the Grandes Jorasses, with the view of ascending it. Five thousand feet of glacier-covered precipices rose above us, and up all that height we tracked a way to our satisfaction. Three thousand feet more of glacier and forest-covered slopes lay beneath, andthere, there was only one point at which it was doubtful if we should find a path. The glaciers were shrinking, and were surrounded by bastions of rounded rock, far too polished to please the rough mountaineer. We could not track a way across them. However, at 4A.M.the next day, under the dexterous leading of Michel Croz, we passed the doubtful spot. Thence it was all plain sailing, and at 1P.M.we gained the summit. The weather was boisterous in the upper regions, and storm-clouds driven before the wind, and wrecked against our heights, enveloped us in misty spray, which danced around and fled away, which cut us off from the material universe, and caused us to be, as it were, suspended betwixt heaven and earth, seeing both occasionally, but seeming to belong to neither.The mists lasted longer than my patience, and we descended without having attained the object for which the ascent was made. At first we followed the little ridge shown upon theaccompanying engraving, leading from our summit towards the spectator, and then took to the head of the corridor of glacier on its left, which in the view is left perfectly white. The slopes were steep and covered with new-fallen snow, flour-like and evil to tread upon. On the[pg 237]ascent we had reviled it, and had made our staircase with much caution, knowing full well that the disturbance of its base would bring down all that was above. In descending, the bolder spirits counselled trusting to luck and a glissade; the cautious ones advo[pg 238]cated avoiding the slopes and crossing to the rocks on their farther side. The advice of the latter prevailed, and we had half-traversed the snow, to gain the ridge, when the crust slipped and we went along with it.“Halt!”broke from all four, unanimously. The axe-heads flew round as we started on this involuntary glissade. It was useless, they slid over the underlying ice fruitlessly.“Halt!”thundered Croz, as he dashed his weapon in again with superhuman energy. No halt could be made, and we slid down slowly, but with accelerating motion, driving up waves of snow in front, with streams of the nasty stuff hissing all around. Luckily, the slope eased off at one place, the leading men cleverly jumped aside out of the moving snow, we others followed, and the young avalanche which we had started, continuing to pour down, fell into a yawning crevasse, and showed us where our grave would have been if we had remained in its company five seconds longer. The whole affair did not occupy half-a-minute. It was the solitary incident of a long day, and at nightfall we re-entered the excellent house kept by the courteous Bertolini, well satisfied that we had not met with more incidents of a similar description.186Illustration: The Grandes Jorasses and the Doire Torrent, from the Italian Val FerretTHE GRANDES JORASSES AND THE DOIRE TORRENT, FROM THE ITALIAN VAL FERRET.

“Oh! ye immortal gods, where in the world are we?”Cicero.

We should have started for Zermatt about 7A.M.on the 18th, had not Biener asked to be allowed to go to mass at Evolène, a village about two and a half hours from Abricolla. He received permission, on the condition that he returned not later than mid-day, but he did not come back until 2.30P.M., and we thereby got into a pretty little mess.

The pass which we were about to traverse to Zermatt—the Col d’Hérens—is one of the few glacier-passes in this district which have been known almost from time immemorial. It is frequently crossed in the summer season, and is a very easy route, notwithstanding that the summit of the pass is 11,417 feet above the level of the sea.173

From Abricolla to the summit the way lies chiefly over the flat Glacier de Ferpècle. The walk is of the most straightforward kind. The glacier rises in gentle undulations; its crevasses are small and easily avoided; and all you have to do, after once getting upon the ice, is to proceed due south, in the most direct manner possible. If you do so, in two hours you should be upon the summit of the pass.

We tied ourselves in line, of course, when we entered upon the[pg 224]glacier, and placed Biener to lead, as he had frequently crossed the pass; supposing that his local knowledge might save us some time upon the other side. We had proceeded, I believe, about half-way up, when a little, thin cloud dropped down upon us from above. It was so light and gauzy, that we did not for a moment suppose it would become embarrassing, and hence I neglected to note at the proper moment the course which we should steer,—that is to say, to observe our precise situation, in regard to the summit of the pass.

For some little time Biener progressed steadily, making a tolerably straight track; but at length he wavered, and deviated sometimes to the right, and sometimes to the left. Croz rushed forward directly he saw this, and taking the poor young man by his shoulders gave him a good shaking, told him that he was an imbecile, to untie himself at once, and to go to the rear. Biener looked half-frightened, and obeyed without a murmur. Croz led off briskly, and made a good straight track for a few minutes. Then, it seemed to me, he began to move steadily round to the left. I looked back, but the mist was now too thick to see our traces, and so we continued to follow our leader. At last the others (who were behind, and in a better position to judge) thought the same as I did, and we pulled up Croz to deliver our opinion. He took our criticism in good part, but when Biener opened his mouth that was too much for him to stand, and he told the young man again,“Youare imbecile; I bet you twenty francs to one thatmytrack is better thanyours; twenty francs, now then, imbecile!”

Almer went to the front. He commenced by returning in the track for a hundred yards or so, and then started off at a tangent from Croz’s curve. We kept this course for half-an-hour, and then were certain that we were not on the right route, because the snow became decidedly steep. We bore away more and more to the right, to avoid this steep bank, but at last I rebelled, as we had for some time been going almost south-west, which was altogether the wrong direction. After a long discussion we[pg 225]returned some distance in our track, and then steered a little east of south, but we continually met steep snow-slopes, and to avoid them went right or left as the case might require.

We were greatly puzzled, and could not in the least tell whether we were too near the Dent Blanche or too close to the Tête Blanche. The mists had thickened, and were now as dense as a moderate London fog. There were no rocks or echoes to direct us, and the guidance of the compass brought us invariably against these steep snow-banks. The men were fairly beaten; they had all had a try, or more than one, and at last gave it up as a bad job, and asked what was to be done. It was 7.30P.M.and only an hour of daylight was left. We were beginning to feel used up, for we had wandered about at tip-top speed for the last three hours and a half, so I said,“This is my advice; let us turn in our track, and go back as hard as ever we can, not quitting the track for an instant.”They were well content, but just as we were starting off, the clouds lifted a little, and we thought we saw the Col. It was then to our right, and we went at it with a dash. Before we had gone a hundred paces down came the mist again. We kept on nevertheless for twenty minutes, and then, as darkness was perceptibly coming on, and the snow was yet rising in front, we turned back, and by running down the entire distance managed to get clear of the Ferpècle glacier just as it became pitch dark. We arrived at our cheerless chalet in due course, and went to bed supperless, for our food was gone; all very sulky—not to say savage—agreeing in nothing except in bullying Biener.

At 7A.M.on the 19th, we set out, for the third time, for the Col d’Hérens. It was a fine day, and we gradually recovered our tempers as we saw the follies which had been committed on the previous evening. Biener’s wavering track was not so bad; but Croz had swerved from the right route from the first, and had traced a complete semicircle, so that when we stopped him we were facing Abricolla—whence we had started. Almer had commenced with great discretion; but he kept on too long, and crossed[pg 226]the proper route. When I stopped them (because we were going south-west), we were a long way up the Tête Blanche! Our last attempt was in the right direction; we were actually upon the summit of the pass, and in another ten yards we should have commenced to go down hill! It is needless to point out that if the compass had been looked to at the proper moment—that is, immediately the mist came down—we should have avoided all our troubles. It was little use afterwards, except to tell us when we were goingwrong. We arrived at Zermatt in six and a half hours’ walking from Abricolla, and Seller’s hospitable reception set us all right again.

On the 20th we crossed the Théodule pass, and diverged from its summit up the Théodulhorn (11,391) to examine a route which I suggested for the ascent of the Matterhorn. Before continuing an account of our proceedings, I must stop for a minute to explain why this new route was proposed, in place of that up the south-western ridge.

The main peak of the Matterhorn may be divided into three sections.174The first, facing the Z’Muttgletscher, looks completely unassailable; the second, facing the east, seems inaccessibility itself; whilst the third, facing Breil, does not look entirely hopeless. It was from this last direction that all my previous attempts were made. It was by the south-western ridge, it will be remembered, that not only I, but Mr. Hawkins, Professor Tyndall, and the chasseurs of Val Tournanche, essayed to climb the mountain. Why then abandon a route which had been shown to be feasible up to a certain point?

I gave it up for four reasons. 1. On account of my growing disinclination for arêtes, and preference for snow and rock-faces (seeChap. XII.). 2. Because I was persuaded that meteorological disturbances (by which we had been baffled several times) might be expected to occur again and again175(see Chaps. IV. and VI.).[pg 227]3. Because I found that the east face was a gross imposition—it looked not far from perpendicular; while its angle was, in fact, scarcely more than 40°. 4. Because I observed for myself that the strata of the mountain dipped to the west-south-west. It is not necessary to say anything more than has been already said upon the first two of these four points, but upon the latter two a few words are indispensable. Let us consider, first, why most persons receive such an exaggerated impression of the steepness of the eastern face.

Illustration: The Matterhorn from the RiffelbergTHE MATTERHORN FROM THE RIFFELBERG.

THE MATTERHORN FROM THE RIFFELBERG.

When one looks at the Matterhorn from Zermatt, the mountain is regarded (nearly) from the north-east. The face that fronts the east is consequently neither seen in profile nor in full front, but almost half-way between the two; it looks, therefore, more steep than it really is. The majority of those who visit Zermatt go up to the Riffelberg, or to the Gornergrat, and from these places, the mountain naturally looks still more precipitous, because its eastern face (which is almost all that is seen of it) is viewed more directly in front. From the Riffel hotel the slope seems to be set at an angle of 70°. If the tourist continues to go southwards, and crosses the Théodule pass, he gets, at one point, immediately in front of the eastern face, which then seems to be absolutely perpendicular. Comparatively few persons correct the erroneous impressions they receive in these quarters by studying the face in profile, and most go away with a very incorrect and exaggerated idea of the precipitousness of this side of the mountain, because they have considered the question from one point of view alone.

Several years passed away before I shook myself clear of my early and false impressions regarding the steepness of this side of the Matterhorn. First of all, I noticed that there were places on this eastern face where snow remained permanently all the year round. I do not speak of snow in gullies, but of the considerable slopes which are seen upon the accompanying engraving, about half-way up the face. Such beds as these could not continue to remain throughout the summer, unless the snow had been able to accumulate in the winter in large masses; and snow cannot accu[pg 228]mulate and remain in large masses, in a situation such as this, at angles much exceeding 45°.176Hence I was bound to conclude that the eastern face was many degrees removed from perpendicularity; and, to be sure on this point, I went to the slopes between the Z’Muttgletscher and the Matterhorngletscher, above the chalets of Staffel, whence the face could be seen in profile. Its appearance from this direction would be amazing to one who had seen it only from the east. It looks so totally different from the apparently sheer and perfectly unclimbable cliff one sees from the Riffelberg, that it is hard to believe the two slopes are one and the same thing. Its angle scarcely exceeds 40°.

A great step was made when this was learnt. This knowledge alone would not, however, have caused me to try an ascent by the eastern face instead of by the south-west ridge. Forty degrees may not seem a formidable inclination to the reader, nor is it for only a small cliff. But it is very unusual to find so steep a gradient maintained continuously as the general angle of a great mountain-slope, and very few instances can be quoted from the High Alps of such an angle being preserved over a rise of 3000 feet.

I do not think that the steepness or the height of this cliff would have deterred climbers from attempting to ascend it, if it had not, in addition, looked so repulsively smooth. Men despaired of finding anything to grasp. Now, some of the difficulties of the south-west ridge came from the smoothness of the rocks, although that ridge, even from a distance, seemed to be well broken up. How much greater, then, might not have been the difficulty of climbing a face which looked smooth and unbroken close at hand?

A more serious hindrance to mounting the south-west ridge is found in the dip of its rocks to the west-south-west. The great mass of the Matterhorn, it is now well ascertained, is composed of[pg 229]regularly stratified rocks,177which rise towards the east. It has been mentioned in the text, more than once, that the rocks on some portions of the ridge leading from the Col du Lion to the summit dip outwards, and that fractured edges overhang.178This is shown in the illustrations facingpp. 76and84; and the annexed diagram, Fig. 1, exhibits the same thing still more clearly. It will be readily understood that such an arrangement is not favourable for climbers, and that the degree of facility with which rocks can be ascended that are so disposed, must depend very much upon the frequency or paucity of fissures and joints. The rocks of the south-west ridge are sufficiently provided with cracks, but if it were otherwise, their texture and arrangement would render them unassailable.179

Illustration: Diagrams to show dip of strata on the Matterhorn

It is not possible to go a single time upon the rocks of the south-west ridge, from the Col du Lion to the foot of the Great Tower, without observing the prevalence of their outward dip, and that their fractured edges have a tendency to overhang; nor can one fail to notice that it is upon this account the débris, which is rent off by frost, does not remainin situ, but pours down in showers over the surrounding cliffs. Each day’s work, so to speak, is cleared away; the ridge is swept clean; there is scarcely anything seen but firm rock.180

The fact that the mountain is composed of a series of stratified beds was pointed out long ago. De Saussure remarked it, and recorded explicitly, in hisTravels(§ 2243), that they“rose to the north-east at an angle of about 45°.”Forbes noticed it also; and gave it as his opinion that the beds were“less inclined, or nearly horizontal.”He added,“De Saussure is no doubt correct.”181The truth, I think, lies between the two.

I was acquainted with both of the above-quoted passages, but did not turn the knowledge to any practical account until I re-observed the same fact for myself. It was not until after my repulse in 1863, that I referred the peculiar difficulties of the south-west ridge to the dip of the strata; but when once persuaded that structure and not texture was the real impediment, it was reasonable to infer that the opposite side, that is to say the eastern face, might be comparatively easy. In brief, that an arrangement should be found likeFig. 2, instead of likeFig. 1. This trivial deduction was the key to the ascent of the Matterhorn.

The point was, Did the strata continue with a similar dip throughout the mountain? If they did, then this great eastern face, instead of being hopelessly impracticable, should be quite the reverse.—In fact, it should be a great natural staircase, with steps inclining inwards; and, if it were so, its smooth aspect might be of no account, for the smallest steps, inclined in this fashion, would afford good footing.

They did so, as far as one could judge from a distance. When snow fell in the summer time, it brought out long, terraced lines upon the mountain; rudely parallel to each other; inclined in the direction shown (approximately) upon the figures in the accompanying plate; and the eastern face, on those occasions, was often whitened almost completely over; while the other sides, with the[pg 231]exception of the powdered terraces, remained black—for the snow could not rest upon them.

Illustration: The Matterhorn from the summit of the Theodule PassTHE MATTERHORN FROM THE SUMMIT OF THE THEODULE PASS.

THE MATTERHORN FROM THE SUMMIT OF THE THEODULE PASS.

Illustration: The Matterhorn from the North-EastTHE MATTERHORN FROM THE NORTH-EAST.

THE MATTERHORN FROM THE NORTH-EAST.

THE SPACES BETWEEN THE PARALLEL RED LINES REPRESENT ON AN AVERAGE A VERTICAL HEIGHT OF ABOUT 60 FEET, BUT, ON ACCOUNT OF FORESHORTENING, THE HEIGHT BETWEEN THE UPPERMOST LINES IS SOMEWHAT MORE THAN THIS AMOUNT.

The very outline of the mountain, too, confirmed the conjecture that its structure would assist an ascent on the eastern face, although it opposed one on all other sides. Look at any photograph of the peak from the north-east (or, failing one, theoutline facing page 230, which is carefully traced from one), and you will see that upon the right-hand side (that facing the Z’Muttgletscher) there is an incessant repetition of overhanging cliffs, and of slopes all trending downwards; in short, that the character of the whole of that side is similar toFig. 1, p. 229; and that upon the left hand (or south-east) ridge, the forms, as far as they go, are suggestive of the structure ofFig. 2. There is no doubt that the contours of the mountain, seen from this direction, have been largely influenced by the direction of its beds.

It was not, therefore, from a freak, that I invited Mr. Reilly to join in an attack upon the eastern face, but from a gradually-acquired conviction that it would prove to give the easiest path to the summit; and, if we had not been obliged to part, the mountain would, doubtless, have been ascended in 1864.

My guides readily admitted that they had been greatly deceived as to the steepness of the eastern face, when they were halted to look at it in profile, as we came down the Z’Muttgletscher, on our way to Zermatt; but they were far from being satisfied that it would turn out to be easy to climb, and Almer and Biener expressed themselves decidedly averse to making an attempt upon it. I gave way temporarily before their evident reluctance, and we made the ascent of the Théodulhorn to examine an alternative route, which I expected would commend itself to them in preference to the other, as a great part of it led over snow.

There is an immense gully in the Matterhorn, which leads up from the Glacier du Mont Cervin to a point high up on the[pg 232]south-eastern ridge.182I proposed to ascend this to its head, and to cross over the south-east ridge on to the eastern face. This would have brought us on a level with the bottom of the great snow-slope shown upon the centre of the eastern face in the engraving facingp. 227. This snow-slope was to be crossed diagonally, with the view of arriving at the snow upon the north-east ridge, which is shown upon the same engraving, about half-an-inch from the summit. The remainder of the ascent was to be made by the broken rocks, mixed with snow, upon the north side of the mountain. Croz caught the idea immediately, and thought the plan feasible; details were settled, and we descended to Breil. Luc Meynet, the hunchback, was summoned, and expressed himself delighted to resume his old vocation of tent-bearer; and Favre’s kitchen was soon in commotion preparing three days’ rations, for I intended to take that amount of time over the affair—to sleep on the first night upon the rocks at the top of the gully; to make a push for the summit, and to return to the tent on the second day; and upon the third to come back to Breil.

We started at 5.45A.M.on June 21, and followed the route of the Breuiljoch183for three hours. We were then in full view of our gully, and turned off at right angles for it. The closer we approached, the more favourable did it look. There was a good deal of snow in it, which was evidently at a small angle, and it seemed as if one-third of the ascent, at least, would be a very simple matter. Some suspicious marks in the snow at its base suggested that it was not free from falling stones, and, as a measure of precaution, we turned off on one side, worked up under cover of the cliffs, and waited to see if anything should descend. Nothing fell, so we proceeded up its right or northern side, sometimes cutting steps up the snow and sometimes mounting by the rocks. Shortly before 10A.M.we arrived at a convenient place for a halt,[pg 233]and stopped to rest upon some rocks, immediately close to the snow, which commanded an excellent view of the gully.

While the men were unpacking the food I went to a little promontory to examine our proposed route more narrowly, and to admire our noble couloir, which led straight up into the heart of the mountain for fully one thousand feet. It then bent towards the north, and ran up to the crest of the south-eastern ridge. My curiosity was piqued to know what was round this corner, and whilst I was gazing up at it, and following with the eye the exquisitely drawn curves which wandered down the snow in the gully, all converging to a large rut in its centre, I saw a few little stones skidding down. I consoled myself with thinking that they would not interfere with us if we adhered to the side. But then a larger one came down, a solitary fellow, rushing at the rate of sixty miles an hour—and another—and another. I was unwilling to raise the fears of the men unnecessarily, and said nothing to them. They did not hear the stones. Almer was seated on a rock, carving large slices from a leg of mutton, the others were chatting, and the first intimation they had of danger was from a crash—a sudden roar—which reverberated awfully amongst the cliffs, and, looking up, they saw masses of rocks, boulders and stones, big and little, dart round the corner eight hundred feet or so above us, fly with fearful fury against the opposite cliffs, rebound from them against the walls on our side, and descend; some ricochetting from side to side in a frantic manner; some bounding down in leaps of a hundred feet or more over the snow; and others trailing down in a jumbled, confused mass, mixed with snow and ice, deepening the grooves which, a moment before, had excited my admiration.

The men looked wildly around for protection, and, dropping the food, dashed under cover in all directions. The precious mutton was pitched on one side, the wine-bag was let fall, and its contents gushed out from the unclosed neck, whilst all four cowered under defending rocks, endeavouring to make themselves as small as possible. Let it not be supposed that their fright was unreason[pg 234]able, or that I was free from it. I took good care to make myself safe, and went and cringed in a cleft until the storm had passed. But their scramble to get under shelter was indescribably ludicrous. Such a panic I have never witnessed, before or since, upon a mountain-side.184

This ricochet practice was a novelty to me. It arose, of course, from the couloir being bent, and from the falling rocks having acquired great pace before they passed the angle. In straight gullies it will, probably, never be experienced. The rule is, as I have already remarked, that falling stones keep down the centres of gullies, and they are out of harm’s way if one follows the sides.

Illustration: My tent-bearer—the hunchbackMY TENT-BEARER—THE HUNCHBACK.

MY TENT-BEARER—THE HUNCHBACK.

There would have been singularly little amusement, and very great risk, in mounting this gully, and we turned our backs upon it with perfect unanimity. The question then arose,“What is to be done?”I suggested climbing the rocks above us, but this was voted impossible. I thought the men were right, yet would not give in without being assured of the fact, and clambered up to[pg 235]settle the question. In a few minutes I was brought to a halt. My forces were scattered; the little hunchback alone was closely following me—with a broad grin upon his face, and the tent upon his shoulder; Croz, more behind, was still keeping an eye upon hisMonsieur; Almer, a hundred feet below, sat on a rock with his face buried in his hands; Biener was nowhere, out of sight.“Come down, come down,”shouted Croz;“it is useless,”and I turned at length, convinced that it was even as he said. Thus my little plan was knocked on the head, and we were thrown back upon the original scheme.

We at once made a straight track for Mr. Morshead’s Breuiljoch185(which was the most direct route to take in order to get to the Hörnli, where we intended to sleep, preparatory to attacking the eastern face), and arrived upon its summit at 12.30P.M.We were then unexpectedly checked. The pass, as one, had vanished! and we found ourselves cut off from the Furggengletscher by a small but precipitous wall of rock;—the glacier had shrunk so much that descent was impracticable. During the last hour clouds had been coming up from the south; they now surrounded us, and it began to blow hard. The men clustered together, and advocated leaving the mountain alone. Almer asked, with more point than politeness,“Why don’t you try to go up a mountain whichcanbe ascended?”“It is impossible,”chimed in Biener.“Sir,”said Croz,“if we cross to the other side we shall lose three days, and very likely shall not succeed. You want to make ascents in the chain of Mont Blanc, and I believe they can be made. But I shall not be able to make them with you if I spend these days here, for I must be at Chamounix on the 27th.”There was force in what he said, and his words made me hesitate. I relied upon his strong arms for some work which it was expected would be unusually difficult. Snow began to fall; that settled the matter, and I gave the word to retreat. We went back to Breil, and on to the village of Val Tournanche, where we slept; and the next[pg 236]day proceeded to Chatillon, and thence up the Valley of Aosta to Courmayeur.

I cannot but regret that the counsels of the guides prevailed. If Croz had not uttered his well-intentioned words, he might still have been living. He parted from us at Chamounix at the appointed time, but by a strange chance we met again at Zermatt three weeks later, and two days afterwards he perished before my eyes on the very mountain from which we turned away, at his advice, on the 21st of June.

On June 23 we mounted to the top of Mont Saxe, to scan the Grandes Jorasses, with the view of ascending it. Five thousand feet of glacier-covered precipices rose above us, and up all that height we tracked a way to our satisfaction. Three thousand feet more of glacier and forest-covered slopes lay beneath, andthere, there was only one point at which it was doubtful if we should find a path. The glaciers were shrinking, and were surrounded by bastions of rounded rock, far too polished to please the rough mountaineer. We could not track a way across them. However, at 4A.M.the next day, under the dexterous leading of Michel Croz, we passed the doubtful spot. Thence it was all plain sailing, and at 1P.M.we gained the summit. The weather was boisterous in the upper regions, and storm-clouds driven before the wind, and wrecked against our heights, enveloped us in misty spray, which danced around and fled away, which cut us off from the material universe, and caused us to be, as it were, suspended betwixt heaven and earth, seeing both occasionally, but seeming to belong to neither.

The mists lasted longer than my patience, and we descended without having attained the object for which the ascent was made. At first we followed the little ridge shown upon theaccompanying engraving, leading from our summit towards the spectator, and then took to the head of the corridor of glacier on its left, which in the view is left perfectly white. The slopes were steep and covered with new-fallen snow, flour-like and evil to tread upon. On the[pg 237]ascent we had reviled it, and had made our staircase with much caution, knowing full well that the disturbance of its base would bring down all that was above. In descending, the bolder spirits counselled trusting to luck and a glissade; the cautious ones advo[pg 238]cated avoiding the slopes and crossing to the rocks on their farther side. The advice of the latter prevailed, and we had half-traversed the snow, to gain the ridge, when the crust slipped and we went along with it.“Halt!”broke from all four, unanimously. The axe-heads flew round as we started on this involuntary glissade. It was useless, they slid over the underlying ice fruitlessly.“Halt!”thundered Croz, as he dashed his weapon in again with superhuman energy. No halt could be made, and we slid down slowly, but with accelerating motion, driving up waves of snow in front, with streams of the nasty stuff hissing all around. Luckily, the slope eased off at one place, the leading men cleverly jumped aside out of the moving snow, we others followed, and the young avalanche which we had started, continuing to pour down, fell into a yawning crevasse, and showed us where our grave would have been if we had remained in its company five seconds longer. The whole affair did not occupy half-a-minute. It was the solitary incident of a long day, and at nightfall we re-entered the excellent house kept by the courteous Bertolini, well satisfied that we had not met with more incidents of a similar description.186

Illustration: The Grandes Jorasses and the Doire Torrent, from the Italian Val FerretTHE GRANDES JORASSES AND THE DOIRE TORRENT, FROM THE ITALIAN VAL FERRET.

THE GRANDES JORASSES AND THE DOIRE TORRENT, FROM THE ITALIAN VAL FERRET.

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