CHAPTER XV.

[pg 239]CHAPTER XV.THE FIRST PASSAGE OF THE COL DOLENT.“Men willingly believe what they wish.”—Cæsar.Freethinking mountaineers have been latterly in the habit of going up one side of an Alp and coming down the other, and calling the route a pass. In this confusion of ideas may be recognised the result of the looseness of thought which arises from the absence of technical education. The true believer abhors such heresies, and observes with satisfaction that Providence oftentimes punishes the offenders for their greediness by causing them to be benighted. The faithful know that passes must be madebetweenmountains, and not over their tops. Their creed declares that between any two mountains theremustbe a pass, and they believe that the end for which big peaks were created—the office they are especially designed to fulfil—is to point out the way one should go. This is the true faith, and there is no other.We set out upon the 26th of June to endeavour to add one more to the passes which are strictly orthodox. We hoped, rather than expected, to discover a quicker route from Courmayeur to Chamounix than the Col du Géant, which was the easiest, quickest, and most direct pass known at the time across the main chain of Mont Blanc.187The misgivings which I had as to the result caused us to start at the unusual hour of 12.40A.M.At 4.30 we passed the chalets of Prè du Bar, and thence, for some distance, followed the track which we had made upon the ascent of Mont Dolent, over the[pg 240]glacier of the same name (p. 182). At a quarter past 8 we arrived at the head of the glacier, and at the foot of the only steep gradient upon the whole of the ascent.It was the beau-ideal of a pass. There was a gap in the mountains, with a big peak on each side (Mount Dolent and the Aig. de Triolet). A narrow thread of snow led up to the lowest point between those mountains, and the blue sky beyond said, Directly you arrive here you will begin to go down. We addressed ourselves to our task, and at 10.15A.M.arrived at the top of the pass.Had things gone as they ought, within six hours more we should have been at Chamounix. Upon the other side we knew that there was a couloir in correspondence with that up which we had just come. If it had been filled with snow all would have been well. It turned out to be filled with ice. Croz, who led, passed over to the other side, and reported that we should get down somehow, but I knew from the sound of his axe how the somehow would be, and settled myself to sketch, well assured thatIshould not be wanted for an hour to come. What I saw is shown in theengraving. A sharp aiguille (nameless), perhaps the sharpest in the whole range, backed on the left by the Aig. de Triolet; queer blocks of (probably) protogine sticking out awkwardly through the snow; and a huge cornice from which big icicles depended, that broke away occasionally and wentskiddlingdown the slope up which we had come. Of the Argentière side I could not see anything.Croz was tied up with our good Manilla rope, and the whole 200 feet were payed out gradually by Almer and Biener before he ceased working. After two hours’ incessant toil, he was able to anchor himself to the rock on his right. He then untied himself, the rope was drawn in, Biener was attached to the end and went down to join his comrade. There was then room enough for me to stand by the side of Almer, and I got my first view of the other side. For the first and only time in my life I looked down a slope more than a thousand feet long, set at an angle of about 50°, which was a sheet of ice from top to bottom. It was unbroken by rock or crag, and[pg 241]anything thrown down it sped away unarrested until the level of the Glacier d’Argentière was reached. The entire basin of that noble[pg 242]glacier188was spread out at our feet, and the ridge beyond, culminating in the Aig. d’Argentière, was seen to the greatest advantage. I confess, however, that I paid very little attention to the view, for there was no time to indulge in such luxuries. I descended the icy staircase and joined the others, and then we three drew in the rope tenderly as Almer came down. His was not an enviable position, but he descended with as much steadiness as if his whole life had been passed on ice-slopes of 50°. The process was repeated; Croz again going to the front, and availing himself very skilfully of the rocks which projected from the cliff on our right. Our 200 feet of rope again came to an end, and we again descended one by one. From this point we were able to clamber down by the rocks alone for about 300 feet. They then became sheer cliff, and we stopped for dinner, about 2.30P.M., at the last place upon which we could sit. Four hours’ incessant work had brought us rather more than half-way down the gully. We were now approaching, although we were still high above, the schrunds at its base, and the guides made out, in some way unknown to me, that Nature had perversely placed the only snow-bridge across the topmost one towards the centre of the gully. It was decided to cut diagonally across the gully to the point where the snow-bridge was supposed to be. Almer and Biener undertook the work, leaving Croz and myself firmly planted on the rocks to pay out the rope to them as they advanced.Illustration: The summit of the Col DolentTHE SUMMIT OF THE COL DOLENT.It is generally admitted that veritable ice-slopes (understanding by ice something more than a crust of hard snow over soft snow) are only rarely met with in the Alps. They are frequently spoken of, but such as that to which I refer areveryrarely seen, and still more seldom traversed. It is, however, always possible that they may be encountered, and on this account, if for no other, it is necessary for men who go mountaineering to be armed with ice-axes, and with good ones. The form is of more importance than[pg 243]might be supposed. Of course, if you intend to act as a simple amateur, and let others do the work, and only follow in their steps, it is not of much importance what kind of ice-axe you carry, so long as its head does not fall off, or otherwise behave itself improperly.189There is no better weapon for cutting steps in ice than a common pick-axe, and the form of ice-axe which is now usually employed by the best guides is very like a miniature pick. My own axe is copied from Melchior Anderegg’s. It is of wrought iron, with point and edge steeled. Its weight, including spiked handle, is four pounds. For cutting steps in ice, the pointed end of the head is almost exclusively employed; the adze-end is handy for polishing them up, but is principally used for cutting in hard snow. Apart from its value as a cutting weapon, it is invaluable as a grapnel. It isnaturallya rather awkward implement when it is not being employed for its legitimate purpose, and is likely to give rise to much strong language in crushes at railway termini, unless its head is protected with a leathern cap, or in some other way. Many attempts have[pg 244]been made, for the sake of convenience, to fashion an ice-axe with a movable head, but it seems difficult or impossible to produce one except at the expense of cutting qualities, and by increasing the weight.Illustration: My ice-axeMY ICE-AXE.Illustration: Kennedy ice-axeKENNEDY ICE-AXE.Illustration: The Leslie Stephen ice-axeTHE“LESLIE STEPHEN”AXE.Mr. T. S. Kennedy (of the firm of Fairbairn & Co.), whose practical acquaintance with mountaineering, and with the use and manufacture of tools, makes his opinion particularly valuable, has contrived the best that I have seen; but even it seems to me to be deficient in rigidity, and not to be so powerful a weapon as the more common kind with the fixed head. The simple instrument which is shown in the annexed diagram is the invention of Mr. Leslie Stephen, and it answers the purposes for which he devised it, namely, for giving better hold upon snow and ice than can be obtained from the common alpenstock, and for cutting an occasional step. The amateur scarcely requires anything more imposing, but for serious ice-work a heavier weapon is indispensable.To persons armed with the proper tools, ice-slopes are not so dangerous as many places which appeal less to the imagination. Their ascent or descent is necessarily laborious (to those who do the work), and they may therefore be termed difficult. Theyoughtnot to be dangerous. Yet they always seem dangerous, for one is profoundly convinced that if he slips he will certainly go to the bottom. Hence, any man, who is not a fool, takes particular care to preserve his balance, and, in consequence, we have the noteworthy[pg 245]fact that accidents have seldom or never taken place upon ice-slopes.The same slopes covered with snow are much less impressive, andmaybe much more dangerous. They may be less slippery, the balance may be more easily preserved, and if one man slips he may be stopped by his own personal efforts, provided the snow which over-lies the ice is consolidated and of a reasonable depth. But if, as is more likely to be the case upon an angle of 50° (or anything approaching that angle), there is only a thin stratum of snow which is not consolidated, the occurrence of a slip will most likely take the entire party as low as possible, and in addition to the chance of broken necks, there will be a strong probability that some, at least, will be smothered by the dislodged snow. Such accidents are far too common, and their occurrence, as a rule, may be traced to the want of caution which is induced by the apparent absence of danger.I do not believe that the use of the rope, in the ordinary way, affords the leastrealsecurity upon ice-slopes. Nor do I think that any benefit is derived from the employment of crampons. Mr. Kennedy was good enough to present me with a pair some time ago, and one of these has been engraved. They are the best variety I have seen of the species, but I only feel comfortable with them on my feet in places where they are not of the slightest use, that is in situations where there is no possibility of slipping, and would not wear them upon an ice-slope for any consideration whatever. All such adventitious aids are useless if you have not a good step in the ice to stand upon, and if you have got that, nothing more is wanted except a few nails in the boots.Illustration: CramponAlmer and Biener got to the end of their tether; the rope no longer assured their safety, and they stopped work as we advanced and coiled it up. Shortly afterwards they struck a streak of snow[pg 246]that proved to be just above the bridge of which they were in search. The slope steepened, and for thirty feet or so we descended face to the wall, making steps by kicking with the toes, and thrusting the arms well into the holes above, just as if they had been rounds in a ladder. At this time we were crossing the uppermost of the schrunds. Needless to say that the snow was of an admirable quality; this performance would otherwise have been impossible. It was soon over, and we then found ourselves upon a huge rhomboidal mass of ice, and still separated from the Argentière glacier by a gigantic crevasse. The only bridge over this lower schrund was at its eastern end, and we were obliged to double back to get to it. Cutting continued for half-an-hour after it was passed, and it was 5.35P.M.before the axes stopped work, and we could at last turn back and look comfortably at the formidable slope upon which seven hours had been spent.190The Col Dolent is not likely to compete with the Col du Géant, and I would recommend any person who starts to cross it to allow himself plenty of time, plenty of rope, and ample guide-power. There is no difficulty whatever upon any part of the route, excepting upon the steep slopes immediately below the summit on each side. When we arrived upon the Glacier d’Argentière, our work was as good as over. We drove a straight track to the chalets of Lognan, and thence the way led over familiar ground. Soon after dusk we got into the high road at les Tines, and at 10P.M.arrived at Chamounix. Our labours were duly rewarded. Houris brought us champagne and the other drinks which are reserved for the faithful, but before my share was consumed I fell asleep in an arm-chair. I slept soundly until daybreak, and then turned into bed and went to sleep again.[pg 247]CHAPTER XVI.THE FIRST ASCENT OF THE AIGUILLE VERTE.“Few have the fortitude of soul to honour,A friend’s success, without a touch of envy.”Æschylus.Michel Croz now parted from us. His new employer had not arrived at Chamounix, but Croz considered that he was bound by honour to wait for him, and thus Christian Almer, of Grindelwald, became my leading guide.Almer displayed aptitude for mountaineering at an early age. Whilst still a very young man he was known as a crack chamois-hunter, and he soon developed into an accomplished guide. Those who have read Mr. Wills’ graphic account of the first ascent of the Wetterhorn191will remember that, when his party was approaching the top of the mountain, two stranger men were seen climbing by a slightly different route, one of whom carried upon his back a young fir-tree, branches, leaves, and all. Mr. Wills’ guides were extremely indignant with these two strangers (who were evidently determined to be the first at the summit), and talked of giving them blows. Eventually they gave them a cake of chocolate instead, and declared that they were good fellows.“Thus the pipe of peace was smoked, and tranquillity reigned between the rival forces.”Christian Almer was one of these two men.This was in 1854. In 1858-9 he made the first ascents of the Eigher and the Mönch, the former with a Mr. Harrington (?), and the latter with Dr. Porges. Since then he has wandered far and[pg 248]near, from Dauphiné to the Tyrol.192With the exception of Melchior Anderegg, there is not, perhaps, another guide of such wide experience, or one who has been so invariably successful; and his numerous employers concur in saying that there is not a truer heart or a surer foot to be found amongst the Alps.Illustration: Portrait of Christian AlmerCHRISTIAN ALMER.193Before recrossing the chain to Courmayeur, we ascended the Aiguille Verte. In company with Mr. Reilly I inspected this mountain from every direction in 1864, and came to the conclusion that an ascent could more easily be made from the south than upon any other side. We set out upon the 28th from Chamounix to attack it, minus Croz, and plus a porter (of whom I will speak more particularly presently), leaving our comrade very downcast at having to kick his heels in idleness, whilst we were about to scale the most celebrated of his native Aiguilles.Our course led us over the old Mer de Glace—the glacier made famous by De Saussure and Forbes. The heat of the day was[pg 249]over, but the little rills and rivulets were still flowing along the surface of the ice: cutting deep troughs where the gradients were small; leaving ripple-marks where the water was with more difficulty confined to one channel; and falling over the precipitous walls of the great crevasses, sometimes in bounding cascades, and sometimes in diffused streams, which marked the perpendicular faces with graceful sinuosities.194As night came on, their music died away, the rivulets dwindled down to rills; the rills ceased to murmur, and the sparkling drops, caught by the hand of frost, were bound to the ice, coating it with an enamelled film which lasted until the sun struck the glacier once more.Illustration: On the Mer de GlaceON THE MER DE GLACE.[pg 250]We camped on the Couvercle (7800) under a great rock, and at 3.15 the next morning started for our aiguille, leaving the porter in charge of the tent and of the food. Two hours’ walking over crisp snow brought us up more than 4000 feet, and within about 1600 feet of the summit. From no other direction can it be approached so closely with equal facility. Thence the mountain steepens. After his late severe piece of ice-work, Almer had a natural inclination for rocks; but the lower rocks of the final peak of the Verte were not inviting, and he went on and on, looking for a way up them, until we arrived in front of a great snow couloir that led from the Glacier de Talèfre right up to the crest of the ridge connecting the summit of the Verte with the mountain called Les Droites. This was the route which I intended to be taken; but Almer pointed out that the gully narrowed at the lower part, and that, if stones fell, we should stand some chance of getting our heads broken; and so we went on still more to the east of the summit, to another and smaller couloir which ran up side by side with the great one. At 5.30 we crossed the schrund which protected the final peak, and, a few minutes afterwards, saw the summit and the whole of the intervening route.“Oh! Aiguille Verte,”said my guide, stopping as he said it,“you are dead, you are dead;”which, being translated into plain English, meant that he was cock-sure we should make its ascent.Almer is a quiet man at all times. When climbing he is taciturn—and this is one of his great merits. A garrulous man is always a nuisance, and upon the mountain-side he may be a danger, for actual climbing requires a man’s whole attention. Added to this, talkative men are hindrances; they are usually thirsty, and a thirsty man is a drag.Guide-books recommend mountain-walkers to suck pebbles, to prevent their throats from becoming parched. There is not much goodness to be got out of the pebbles; but you cannot suck them and keep the mouth open at the same time, and hence the throat does not become dry. It answers just as well to keep the mouth[pg 251]shut, without any pebbles inside,—indeed, I think, better; for if you have occasion to open your mouth, you can do so without swallowing any pebbles.195As a rule, amateurs, and particularly novices,will notkeep their mouths shut. They attempt to“force the pace,”they go faster than they can go without being compelled to open their mouths to breathe, they pant, their throats and tongues become parched, they drink and perspire copiously, and, becoming exhausted, declare that the dryness of the air, or the rarefaction of the air (everything is laid upon the air), is in fault. On several accounts, therefore, a mountain-climber does well to hold his tongue when he is at his work.At the top of the small gully we crossed over the intervening rocks into the large one, and followed it so long as it was filled with snow. At last ice replaced snow, and we turned over to the rocks upon its left. Charming rocks they were; granitic in texture,196gritty, holding the nails well. At 9.45 we parted from them, and completed the ascent by a little ridge of snow which descended in the direction of the Aiguille du Moine. At 10.15 we stood on the summit (13,540), and devoured our bread and cheese with a good appetite.I have already spoken of the disappointing nature of purely panoramic views. That seen from Mont Blanc itself is notoriously unsatisfactory. When you are upon that summit you look down upon all the rest of Europe. There is nothing to look up to; all is below; there is no one point for the eye to rest upon. The man who is there is somewhat in the position of one who has attained all that he desires,—he has nothing to aspire to; his position must needs be unsatisfactory. Upon the summit of the Verte there is not this objection. You see valleys, villages, fields;[pg 252]you see mountains interminable rolling away, lakes resting in their hollows; you hear the tinkling of the sheep-bells as it rises through the clear mountain air, and the roar of the avalanches as they descend to the valleys: but above all there is the great white dome, with its shining crest high above; with its sparkling glaciers that descend between buttresses which support them: with its brilliant snows, purer and yet purer the farther they are removed from this unclean world.197Even upon this mountain-top it was impossible to forget the world, for some vile wretch came to the Jardin and made hideous sounds by blowing through a horn. Whilst we were denouncing him a change came over the weather; cumulous clouds gathered in all directions, and we started off in hot haste. Snow began to fall heavily before we were off the summit-rocks, our track was obscured and frequently lost, and everything became so sloppy and slippery that the descent took as long as the ascent. The schrund was recrossed at 3.15P.M., and thence we raced down to the Couvercle, intending to have a carouse there; but as we rounded our rock a howl broke simultaneously from all three of us, for the porter had taken down the tent, and was in the act of moving off with it.“Stop, there! what are you doing?”He observed that he had thought we were killed, or at least lost, and was going to Chamounix to communicate his ideas to theguide chef.“Unfasten the tent, and get out the food.”Instead of doing so the porter fumbled in his pockets.“Get out the food,”we roared, losing all patience.“Here it is,”said our worthy friend, producing a dirty piece of bread about as big as a halfpenny roll. We three looked solemnly at the fluff-covered morsel. It was past a joke,—he had devoured everything. Mutton, loaves, cheese, wine, eggs, sausages—all was gone—past recovery. It was idle to grumble, and useless to wait. We were light, and could move quickly,—the porter was laden[pg 253]inside and out. We went our hardest,—he had to shuffle and trot. He streamed with perspiration; the mutton and cheese oozed out in big drops,—he larded the glacier. We had our revenge, and dried our clothes at the same time, but when we arrived at the Montanvert the porter was as wet as we had been upon our arrival at the Couvercle. We halted at the inn to get a little food, and at a quarter past eight re-entered Chamounix, amidst firing of cannon and other demonstrations of satisfaction on the part of the hotel-keepers.One would have thought that the ascent of this mountain, which had been frequently assailed before without success, would have afforded some gratification to a population whose chief support is derived from tourists, and that the prospect of the perennial flow of francs which might be expected to result from it would have stifled the jealousy consequent on the success of foreigners.198It was not so. Chamounix stood on its rights. A stranger had ignored the“regulations,”had imported two foreign guides, and, furthermore, he had added injury to that insult—he had not taken a single Chamounix guide. Chamounix would be revenged! It would bully the foreign guides; it would tell them they had lied,—that they had not made the ascent! Where were their proofs? Where was the flag upon the summit?Poor Almer and Biener were accordingly chivied from pillar to post, from one inn to another, and at length complained to me. Peter Perrn, the Zermatt guide, said on the night that we returned that this was to happen, but the story seemed too absurd to be true. I now bade my men go out again, and followed them myself to see the sport. Chamounix was greatly excited. Thebureauof theguide chefwas thronged with clamouring men. Their ringleader—one Zacharie Cachat—a well-known guide, of no particular merit, but not a bad fellow, was haranguing the[pg 254]multitude. He met with more than his match. My friend Kennedy, who was on the spot, heard of the disturbance and rushed into the fray, confronted the burly guide, and thrust back his absurdities into his teeth.There were the materials for a very pretty riot; but they manage these things better in France than we do, and the gensdarmes—three strong—came down and dispersed the crowd. The guides quailed before the cocked hats, and retired to cabarets to take little glasses of absinthe and other liquors more or less injurious to the human frame. Under the influence of these stimulants, they conceived an idea which combined revenge with profit.“You have ascended the Aiguille Verte, you say.Wesay we don’t believe it.Wesay, do it again! Take three of us with you, and we will bet you two thousand francs to one thousand, that you won’t make the ascent!”This proposition was formally notified to me, but I declined it, with thanks, and recommended Kennedy to go in and win. I accepted, however, a hundred franc share in the bet, and calculated upon getting two hundred per cent on my investment. Alas! how vain are human expectations! Zacharie Cachat was put into confinement, and although Kennedy actually ascended the Aiguille a week later, with two Chamounix guides and Peter Perrn, the bet came to nothing.199The weather arranged itself just as this storm in a teapot blew over, and we left at once for the Montanvert, in order to show the Chamouniards the easiest way over the chain of Mont Blanc, in return for the civilities which we had received from them during the past three days.[pg 255]Illustration: Western side of the Col de TalèfreWESTERN SIDE OF THE COL DE TALÈFRE.CHAPTER XVII.THE FIRST PASSAGE OF THE COL DE TALÈFRE.“’Tis more by art than force of numerous strokes.”Homer.The person who discovered the Col du Géant must have been a shrewd mountaineer. The pass was in use before any other was known across the main chain of Mont Blanc, and down to the present time it remains the easiest and quickest route from Chamounix to Courmayeur, with the single exception of the pass that we crossed upon the 3d of July, for the first time, which lies about mid-way between the Aiguille de Triolet and the Aiguille de Talèfre, and which, for want of a better name, I have called the Col de Talèfre.When one looks toward the upper end of the Glacier de Talèfre from the direction of the Jardin or of the Couvercle, the ridge that bounds the view seems to be of little elevation. It is overpowered by the colossal Grandes Jorasses, and by the almost equally magnificent Aiguille Verte. The ridge, notwithstanding, is by no means despicable. At no point is its elevation less than 11,600 feet. It[pg 256]does not look anything like this height. The Glacier de Talèfre mounts with a steady incline, and the eye is completely deceived.In 1864, when prowling about with Mr. Reilly, I instinctively fixed upon a bent couloir which led up from the glacier to the lowest part of the ridge; and when, after crossing the Col de Triolet, I saw that the other side presented no particular difficulty, it seemed to me that this was theonepoint in the whole of the range which would afford an easier passage than the Col du Géant.We set out from the Montanvert at 4A.M.upon July 3, to see whether this opinion was correct, and it fortunately happened that the Rev. A. G. Girdlestone and a friend, with two Chamounix guides, left the inn at the same hour as ourselves, to cross the Col du Géant. We kept in company as far as our routes lay together, and at 9.35 we arrived at the top of our pass, having taken the route to the south of the Jardin. Description is unnecessary, as our track is laid down very clearly on theengravingat the head of this chapter.Much snow had fallen during the late bad weather, and as we reposed upon the top of our pass (which was about 11,650 feet above the level of the sea, and 600 feet above the Col du Géant), we saw that the descent of the rocks which intervened between us and the Glacier de Triolet would require some caution, for the sun’s rays poured down directly upon them, and the snow slipped away every now and then from ledge to ledge just as if it had been water,—in cascades not large enough to be imposing, but sufficient to knock us over if we got in their way. This little bit of cliff consequently took a longer time than it should have done, for when we heard the indescribable swishing, hissing sound which announced a coming fall, we of necessity huddled under the lee of the rocks until the snow ceased to shoot over us.We got to the level of the Glacier de Triolet without misadventure, then steered for its left bank to avoid the upper of its two formidable ice-falls, and after descending the requisite distance by some old snow lying between the glacier and the cliffs which border[pg 257]it, crossed directly to the right bank over the level ice between the two ice-falls.200The right bank was gained without any trouble, and we found there numerous beds of hard snow (avalanche débris) down which we could run or glissade as fast as we liked.Glissading is a very pleasant employment when it is accomplished successfully, and I have never seen a place where it can be more safely indulged in than the snowy valley on the right bank of the Glacier de Triolet. In my dreams I glissade delightfully, but in practice I find that somehow the snow will not behave properly, and that my alpenstockwillget between my legs. Then my legs go where my head should be, and I see the sky revolving at a rapid pace; the snow rises up and smites me, and runs away; and when it is at last overtaken it suddenly stops, and we come into violent collision. Those who are with me say that I tumble head over heels, and there may be some truth in what they say. Streaks of ice are apt to make the heels shoot away, and stray stones cause one to pitch headlong down. Somehow these things always seem to come in the way, so it is as well to glissade only when there is something soft to tumble into.201Illustration: GlissadingNear the termination of the glacier we could not avoid traversing a portion of its abominable moraine, but at 1.30P.M.we were[pg 258]clear of it, and threw ourselves upon some springy turf conscious that our day’s work was over. An hour afterwards we resumed the march, crossed the Doire torrent by a bridge a little below Gruetta, and at five o’clock entered Courmayeur, having occupied somewhat less than ten hours on the way. Mr. Girdlestone’s party came in, I believe, about four hours afterwards, so there was no doubt that we made a shorter pass than the Col du Géant; and I believe we discovered a quicker way of getting from Chamounix to Courmayeur, orvice versa, than will be found elsewhere, so long as the chain of Mont Blanc remains in its present condition.202[pg 259]CHAPTER XVIII.THE FIRST ASCENT OF THE RUINETTE—THE MATTERHORN.“In almost every art, experience is worth more than precepts.”Quintilian.All of the excursions that were set down in my programme had been carried out, with the exception of the ascent of the Matterhorn, and we now turned our faces in its direction, but instead of returningviâthe Val Tournanche, we took a route across country, and bagged upon our way the summit of the Ruinette.We passed the night of July 4, at Aosta, under the roof of the genial Tairraz, and on the 5th went by the Val d’Ollomont and the Col de la Fenêtre (9140) to Chermontane. We slept that night at the chalets of Chanrion (a foul spot, which should be avoided), left them at 3.50 the next morning, and after a short scramble over the slope above, and a half-mile tramp on the glacier de Breney, we crossed directly to the Ruinette, and went almost straight up it. There is not, I suppose, another mountain in the Alps of the same height that can be ascended so easily. You have only to go ahead: upon its southern side one can walk about almost anywhere.Though I speak thus slightingly of a very respectable peak, I will not do anything of the kind in regard to the view which it gives. It is happily placed in respect to the rest of the Pennine Alps, and as a stand-point it has not many superiors. You see mountains, and nothing but mountains. It is a solemn—some would say a dreary—view, but it is very grand. The great Combin (14,164), with its noble background of the whole range of Mont[pg 260]Blanc, never looks so big as it does from here. In the contrary direction, the Matterhorn overpowers all besides. The Dent d’Hérens, although closer, looks a mere outlier of its great neighbour, and the snows of Monte Rosa, behind, seem intended for no other purpose than to give relief to the crags in front. To the south there is an endless array of Bec’s and Becca’s, backed by the great Italian peaks, whilst to the north Mont Pleureur (12,159) holds it own against the more distant Wildstrubel.We gained the summit at 9.15,203and stayed there an hour and a half. My faithful guides then admonished me that Prerayen, whither we were bound, was still far away, and that we had yet to cross two lofty ridges. So we resumed our harness and departed; not, however, before a huge cairn had been built out of the blocks of gneiss with which the summit is bestrewn. Then we trotted down the slopes of the Ruinette, over the glacier de Breney, and across a pass which (if it deserves a name) may be called the Col des Portons, after the neighbouring peaks. Thence we proceeded across the great Otemma glacier towards the Col d’Olen.The part of the glacier that we traversed was overspread with snow which completely concealed its numerous pitfalls. We marched across it in single file, and, of course, roped together. All at once Almer dropped into a crevasse up to his shoulders. I pulled in the rope immediately, but the snow gave way as it was being done, and I had to spread out my arms to stop my descent. Biener held fast, and said afterwards, that his feet went through as well; so, for a moment, all three were in the jaws of the crevasse. We now altered our course, so as to take the fissures transversely, and changed it again after the centre of the glacier was passed, and made directly for the summit of the Col d’Olen.It is scarcely necessary to observe, after what I have said[pg 261]before, that it is my invariable practice to employ a rope when traversing a snow-covered glacier. Many guides, even the best ones, object to be roped, more especially early in the morning, when the snow is hard. They object sometimes, because they think it is unnecessary. Crevasses that are bridged by snow are almost always more or less perceptible by undulations on the surface; the snow droops down, and hollows mark the courses of the chasms beneath. An experienced guide usually notices these almost imperceptible wrinkles, steps one side or the other, as the case may require, and rarely breaks through unawares. Guides think there is no occasion to employ a rope because they think that they will not be taken by surprise. Michel Croz used to be of this opinion. He used to say that only imbeciles and children required to be tied up in the morning. I told him that in this particular matter I was a child to him.“You see these things, my good Croz, and avoid them. I donot, except you point them out to me, and so that which is not a danger to you,isa danger to me.”The sharper one’s eyes get by use, the less is a rope required as a protective against these hidden pitfalls; but, according to my experience, the sight never becomes so keen that they can be avoided with unvarying certainty, and I mentioned what occurred upon the Otemma glacier to show that this is so.I well remember my first passage of the Col Théodule—the easiest of the higher Alpine glacier passes. We had a rope, but my guide said it was not necessary, he knew all the crevasses. However, we did not go a quarter of a mile before he dropped through the snow into a crevasse up to his neck. He was a heavy man, and would scarcely have extricated himself alone; anyhow, he was very glad of my assistance. When he got on to his legs again, he said,“Well, I had no idea that there was a crevasse there!”He no longer objected to use the rope, and we proceeded; upon my part, with greater peace of mind than before. I have crossed the pass fourteen times since then, and have invariably insisted upon being tied together.[pg 262]Guides object to the use of the rope upon snow-covered glacier, because they are afraid of being laughed at by their comrades; and this, perhaps, is the more common reason. To illustrate this, here is another Théodule experience. We arrived at the edge of the ice, and I required to be tied. My guide (a Zermatt man of repute) said that no one used a rope going across that pass. I declined to argue the matter, and we put on the rope; though very much against the wish of my man, who protested that he should have to submit to perpetual ridicule if we met any of his acquaintances. We had not gone very far before we saw a train coming in the contrary direction.“Ah!”cried my man,“there is R—— (mentioning a guide who used to be kept at the Riffel Hotel for the ascent of Monte Rosa); it will be as I said, I shall never hear the end of this.”The guide we met was followed by a string of tom-fools, none of whom were tied together, and had his face covered by a mask to prevent it becoming blistered. After we had passed, I said,“Now, should R—— make any observations to you, ask him why he takes such extraordinary care to preserve the skin of his face, which will grow again in a week, when he neglects such an obvious precaution in regard to his life, which he can only lose once.”This was quite a new idea to my guide, and he said nothing more against the use of the rope so long as we were together.I believe that the unwillingness to use a rope upon snow-covered glacier which born mountaineers not unfrequently exhibit, arises—First, on the part of expert men, from the consciousness that they themselves incur little risk; secondly, on the part of inferior men, from fear of ridicule, and from aping the ways of their superiors; and, thirdly, from pure ignorance or laziness. Whatever may be the reason, I raise up my voice against the neglect of a precaution so simple and so effectual. In my opinion, the very first thing a glacier traveller requires is plenty of good rope.A committee of the English Alpine Club was appointed in 1864 to test, and to report upon, the most suitable ropes for[pg 263]mountaineering purposes, and those which were approved are probably as good as can be found. One is made of Manilla and another of Italian hemp. The former is the heavier, and weighs a little more than an ounce per foot (103 ozs. to 100 feet). The latter weighs 79 ozs. per 100 feet; but I prefer the Manilla rope, because it is more handy to handle. Both of these ropes will sustain 168 lbs. falling 10 feet, or 196 lbs. falling 8 feet, and they break with a dead weight of two tons.204In 1865 we carried two 100 feet lengths of the Manilla rope, and the inconvenience arising from its weight was more than made up for by the security which it afforded. Upon several occasions it was worth more than an extra guide.Now, touching theuseof the rope. There is a right way, and there are wrong ways of using it. I often meet, upon glacier-passes, elegantly got-up persons, who are clearly out of their element, with a guide stalking along in front, who pays no attention to the innocents in his charge. They are tied together as a matter of form, but they evidently have no ideawhythey are tied up, for they walk side by side, or close together, with the rope trailing on the snow. If one tumbles into a crevasse, the rest stare, and say,“La! what is the matter with Smith?”unless, as is more likely, they all tumble in together. This is the wrong way to use a rope. It is abuse of the rope.Illustration: The wrong way to use a rope on glacierIt is of the first importance to keep the rope taut from man to man. If this is not done, there is no real security, and your risks may be considerably magnified. There is little or no difficulty in extricating one man who breaks through a bridged crevasse if the[pg 264]rope is taut; but the case may be very awkward if two break through at the same moment, close together, and there are only two others to aid, or perhaps only one other. Further, the rope ought not upon any account to graze over snow, ice, or rocks, otherwise the strands suffer, and the lives of the whole party may be endangered. Apart from this, it is extremely annoying to have a rope knocking about one’s heels. If circumstances render it impossible for the rope to be kept taut by itself, the men behind should gather it up round their hands,205and not allow it to incommode those in advance. A man must either be incompetent, careless, or selfish, if he permits the rope to dangle about the heels of the person in front of him.Illustration: The right way to use a rope on glacierTHE RIGHT WAY TO USE THE ROPE.The distance from man to man must neither be too great nor too small. About 12 feet between each is sufficient. If there are only two or three persons, it is prudent to allow a little more—say 15 feet. More than this is unnecessary, and less than 9 or 10 feet is not much good.It is essential to examine your rope from time to time to see that it is in good condition. If you are wise you will do this yourself every day. Latterly, I have examined every inch of my rope overnight, and upon more than one occasion have found the strands of the Manilla rope nearly half severed through accidental grazes.[pg 265]Thus far the rope has been supposed to be employed upon level, snow-covered glacier, to prevent any risk from concealed crevasses. On rocks and on slopes it is used for a different purpose (namely, to guard against slips), and in these cases it is equally important to keep it taut, and to preserve a reasonable distance one from the other. It is much more troublesome to keep the rope taut upon slopes than upon the level; and upon difficult rocks it is all but impossible, except by adopting the plan of moving only one at a time (see p. 115).There is no good reason for employing a rope upon easy rocks, and I believe that its needless use is likely to promote carelessness. On difficult rocks and on snow-slopes (frequently improperly called ice-slopes) it is a great advantage to be tied together, provided the rope is handled properly; but upon actual ice-slopes, such as that on the Col Dolent (p. 240), or upon slopes in which ice is mingled with small and loose rocks, such as the upper part of the Pointe des Ecrins, it is almost useless, because a slip made by one person might upset the entire party.206I am not prepared to say, however, that men should not be tied together upon similar slopes. Being attached to others usually gives confidence, and confidence decidedly assists stability. It is more questionable whether men should be in such places at all. If a man can keep on his feet upon anescaliercut in an ice-slope, I see no reason why he should be[pg 266]debarred from making use of that particular form of staircase. If he cannot, let him keep clear of such places.207There would be no advantage in discoursing upon the use of the rope at greater length. A single day upon a mountain’s side will give a clearer idea of the value of a good rope, and of the numerous purposes for which it may be employed, than any one will obtain from reading all that has been written upon the subject; but no one will become really expert in its management without much experience.From the Col d’Olen we proceeded down the Combe of the same name to the chalets of Prerayen, and passed the night of the 6th under the roof of our old acquaintance, the wealthy herdsman. On the 7th we crossed the Va Cornère pass,en routefor Breil. My thoughts were fixed on the Matterhorn, and my guides knew that I wished them to accompany me. They had an aversion to the mountain, and repeatedly expressed their belief that it was useless to try to ascend it.“Anythingbut Matterhorn, dear sir!”said Almer;“anythingbut Matterhorn.”He did not speak of difficulty or of danger, nor was he shirkingwork. He offered to goanywhere; but he entreated that the Matterhorn should be abandoned. Both men spoke fairly enough. They did not think that an ascent could be made; and for their own credit, as well as for my sake, they did not wish to undertake a business which, in their opinion, would only lead to loss of time and money.[pg 267]I sent them by the short cut to Breil, and walked down to Val Tournanche to look for Jean-Antoine Carrel. He was not there. The villagers said that he, and three others, had started on the 6th to try the Matterhorn by the old way, on their own account. They will have no luck, I thought, for the clouds were low down on the mountains; and I walked up to Breil, fully expecting to meet them. Nor was I disappointed. About half-way up I saw a group of men clustered around a chalet upon the other side of the torrent, and, crossing over, found that the party had returned. Jean-Antoine and Cæsar were there, C. E. Gorret, and J. J. Maquignaz. They had had no success. The weather, they said, had been horrible, and they had scarcely reached the glacier du Lion.I explained the situation to Carrel, and proposed that we, with Cæsar and another man, should cross the Théodule by moonlight on the 9th, and that upon the 10th we should pitch the tent as high as possible upon the east face. He was unwilling to abandon the old route, and urged me to try it again. I promised to do so provided the new route failed. This satisfied him, and he agreed to my proposal. I then went up to Breil, and discharged Almer and Biener—with much regret, for no two men ever served me more faithfully or more willingly.208On the next day they crossed to Zermatt.The 8th was occupied with preparations. The weather was stormy; and black, rainy vapours obscured the mountains. Towards evening a young man came from Val Tournanche, and reported that an Englishman was lying there, extremely ill. Now was the time for the performance of my vow;209and on the morning of Sunday the 9th I went down the valley to look after the sick man. On my way I passed a foreign gentleman, with a mule and several porters laden with baggage. Amongst these men were Jean-[pg 268]Antoine and Cæsar, carrying some barometers.“Hullo!”I said,“what are you doing?”They explained that the foreigner had arrived just as they were setting out, and that they were assisting his porters.“Very well; go on to Breil, and await me there; we start at midnight as agreed.”Jean-Antoine then said that he should not be able to serve me after Tuesday the 11th, as he was engaged to travel“with a family of distinction”in the valley of Aosta.“And Cæsar?”“And Cæsar also.”“Why did you not say this before?”“Because,”said he,“it was not settled. The engagement is of long standing, butthe daywas not fixed. When I got back to Val Tournanche on Friday night, after leaving you, I found a letter naming the day.”I could not object to the answer; but the prospect of being left guideless was provoking. They went up, and I down, the valley.The sick man declared that he was better, though the exertion of saying as much tumbled him over on to the floor in a fainting fit. He was badly in want of medicine, and I tramped down to Chatillon to get it. It was late before I returned to Val Tournanche, for the weather was tempestuous, and rain fell in torrents. A figure passed me under the church porch.“Qui vive?”“Jean-Antoine.”“I thought you were at Breil.”“No, sir: when the storms came on I knew we should not start to-night, and so came down to sleep here.”“Ha, Carrel!”I said;“this is a great bore. If to-morrow is not fine we shall not be able to do anything together. I have sent away my guides, relying on you; and now you are going to leave me to travel with a party of ladies. That work is not fit foryou(he smiled, I supposed at the implied compliment); can’t you send some one else instead?”“No, monsieur. I am sorry, but my word is pledged. I should like to accompany you, but I can’t break my engagement.”By this time we had arrived at the inn door.“Well, it is no fault of yours. Come presently with Cæsar, and have some wine.”They came, and we sat up till midnight, recounting our old adventures, in the inn of Val Tournanche.[pg 269]The weather continued bad upon the 10th, and I returned to Breil. The two Carrels were again hovering about the above mentioned chalet, and I bade them adieu. In the evening the sick man crawled up, a good deal better; but his was the only arrival. The Monday crowd210did not cross the Théodule, on account of the continued storms. The inn was lonely. I went to bed early, and was awoke the next morning by the invalid inquiring if I had“heard the news.”“No; what news?”“Why,”said he,“a large party of guides went off this morning to try the Matterhorn, taking with them a mule laden with provisions.”I went to the door, and with a telescope saw the party upon the lower slopes of the mountain. Favre, the landlord, stood by.“What is all this about?”I inquired,“who is the leader of this party?”“Carrel.”“What! Jean-Antoine?”“Yes; Jean-Antoine.”“Is Cæsar there too?”“Yes, he is there.”Then I saw in a moment that I had been bamboozled and humbugged; and learned, bit by bit, that the affair had been arranged long beforehand. The start on the 6th had been for a preliminary reconnaissance; the mule, that I passed, was conveying stores for the attack; the“family of distinction”was Signor F. Giordano, who had just despatched the party to facilitate the way to the summit, and who, when the facilitation was completed, was to be taken to the top along with Signor Sella!211I was greatly mortified. My plans were upset; the Italians had clearly stolen a march upon me, and I saw that the astute Favre chuckled over my discomfiture, because the route by the eastern face, if successful, would not benefit his inn. What was to be done? I retired to my room, and soothed by tobacco, re-studied my plans, to see if it was not possible to outmanœuvre the Italians.“They have taken a mule’s load of provisions.”“Thatisonepoint[pg 270]in my favour, for they will take two or three days to get through the food, and, until that is done, no work will be accomplished.”“How is the weather?”I went to the window. The mountain was smothered up in mist.“Another point in my favour.”“They are to facilitate the way. Well, if they do that to any purpose, it will be a long job.”Altogether, I reckoned that they could not possibly ascend the mountain and come back to Breil in less than seven days. I got cooler, for it was evident that the wily ones might be outwitted after all. There was time enough to go to Zermatt, to try the eastern face, and, should it prove impracticable, to come back to Breil before the men returned; and then, it seemed to me, as the mountain was not padlocked, one might start at the same time as the Messieurs, and yet get to the top before them.The first thing to do was to go to Zermatt. Easier said than done. The seven guides upon the mountain included the ablest men in the valley, and none of the ordinary muleteer-guides were at Breil. Two men, at least, were wanted for my baggage, but not a soul could be found. I ran about, and sent about in all directions, but not a single porter could be obtained. One was with Carrel; another was ill; another was at Chatillon, and so forth. Even Meynet, the hunchback, could not be induced to come; he was in the thick of some important cheese-making operations. I was in the position of a general without an army; it was all very well to make plans, but there was no one to execute them. This did not much trouble me, for it was evident that so long as the weather stopped traffic over the Théodule pass, it would hinder the men equally upon the Matterhorn; and I knew that directly it improved company would certainly arrive.About midday on Tuesday the 11th a large party hove in sight from Zermatt, preceded by a nimble young Englishman, and one of old Peter Taugwalder’s sons.212I went at once to this gentleman to learn if he could dispense with Taugwalder. He said that he[pg 271]could not, as they were going to recross to Zermatt on the morrow, but that the young man should assist in transporting my baggage, as he had nothing to carry. We naturally got into conversation. I told my story, and learned that the young Englishman was Lord Francis Douglas,213whose recent exploit—the ascent of the Gabelhorn—had excited my wonder and admiration. He brought good news. Old Peter had lately been beyond the Hörnli, and had reported that he thought an ascent of the Matterhorn was possible upon that side. Almer had left Zermatt, and could not be recovered, so I determined to seek for old Peter. Lord Francis Douglas expressed a warm desire to ascend the mountain, and before long it was determined that he should take part in the expedition.Favre could no longer hinder our departure, and lent us one of his men. We crossed the Col Théodule on Wednesday morning the 12th of July, rounded the foot of the Ober Théodulgletscher, crossed the Furggengletscher, and deposited tent, blankets, ropes, and other matters in the little chapel at the Schwarzsee.214All four were heavily laden, for we brought across the whole of my stores from Breil. Of rope alone there was about 600 feet. There were three kinds. First, 200 feet of the Manilla rope; second, 150 feet of a stouter, and probably stronger rope than the first; and third, more than 200 feet of a lighter and weaker rope than the first, of a kind that I used formerly (stout sash-line).We descended to Zermatt, sought and engaged old Peter, and gave him permission to choose another guide. When we returned to the Monte Rosa Hotel, whom should we see sitting upon the wall in front but my oldguide chef, Michel Croz. I supposed that he had come with Mr. B——, but I learned that that gentleman had arrived in ill health, at Chamounix, and had returned to England. Croz, thus left free, had been immediately engaged by the Rev. Charles Hudson, and they had come to Zermatt with the[pg 272]same object as ourselves—namely, to attempt the ascent of the Matterhorn!Lord Francis Douglas and I dined at the Monte Rosa, and had just finished when Mr. Hudson and a friend entered thesalle à manger. They had returned from inspecting the mountain, and some idlers in the room demanded their intentions. We heard a confirmation of Croz’s statement, and learned that Mr. Hudson intended to set out on the morrow at the same hour as ourselves. We left the room to consult, and agreed it was undesirable that two independent parties should be on the mountain at the same time with the same object. Mr. Hudson was therefore invited to join us, and he accepted our proposal. Before admitting his friend—Mr. Hadow—I took the precaution to inquire what he had done in the Alps, and, as well as I remember, Mr. Hudson’s reply was,“Mr. Hadow has done Mont Blanc in less time than most men.”He then mentioned several other excursions that were unknown to me, and added, in answer to a further question,“I consider he is a sufficiently good man to go with us.”Mr. Hadow was admitted without any further question, and we then went into the matter of guides. Hudson thought that Croz and old Peter would be sufficient. The question was referred to the men themselves, and they made no objection.So Croz and I became comrades once more; and as I threw myself on my bed and tried to go to sleep, I wondered at the strange series of chances which had first separated us and then brought us together again. I thought of the mistake through which he had accepted the engagement to Mr. B——; of his unwillingness to adopt my route; of his recommendation to transfer our energies to the chain of Mont Blanc; of the retirement of Almer and Biener; of the desertion of Carrel; of the arrival of Lord Francis Douglas; and, lastly, of our meeting at Zermatt; and as I pondered over these things I could not help asking,“What next?”If any one of the links of this fatal chain of circumstances had been omitted, what a different story I should have to tell!

[pg 239]CHAPTER XV.THE FIRST PASSAGE OF THE COL DOLENT.“Men willingly believe what they wish.”—Cæsar.Freethinking mountaineers have been latterly in the habit of going up one side of an Alp and coming down the other, and calling the route a pass. In this confusion of ideas may be recognised the result of the looseness of thought which arises from the absence of technical education. The true believer abhors such heresies, and observes with satisfaction that Providence oftentimes punishes the offenders for their greediness by causing them to be benighted. The faithful know that passes must be madebetweenmountains, and not over their tops. Their creed declares that between any two mountains theremustbe a pass, and they believe that the end for which big peaks were created—the office they are especially designed to fulfil—is to point out the way one should go. This is the true faith, and there is no other.We set out upon the 26th of June to endeavour to add one more to the passes which are strictly orthodox. We hoped, rather than expected, to discover a quicker route from Courmayeur to Chamounix than the Col du Géant, which was the easiest, quickest, and most direct pass known at the time across the main chain of Mont Blanc.187The misgivings which I had as to the result caused us to start at the unusual hour of 12.40A.M.At 4.30 we passed the chalets of Prè du Bar, and thence, for some distance, followed the track which we had made upon the ascent of Mont Dolent, over the[pg 240]glacier of the same name (p. 182). At a quarter past 8 we arrived at the head of the glacier, and at the foot of the only steep gradient upon the whole of the ascent.It was the beau-ideal of a pass. There was a gap in the mountains, with a big peak on each side (Mount Dolent and the Aig. de Triolet). A narrow thread of snow led up to the lowest point between those mountains, and the blue sky beyond said, Directly you arrive here you will begin to go down. We addressed ourselves to our task, and at 10.15A.M.arrived at the top of the pass.Had things gone as they ought, within six hours more we should have been at Chamounix. Upon the other side we knew that there was a couloir in correspondence with that up which we had just come. If it had been filled with snow all would have been well. It turned out to be filled with ice. Croz, who led, passed over to the other side, and reported that we should get down somehow, but I knew from the sound of his axe how the somehow would be, and settled myself to sketch, well assured thatIshould not be wanted for an hour to come. What I saw is shown in theengraving. A sharp aiguille (nameless), perhaps the sharpest in the whole range, backed on the left by the Aig. de Triolet; queer blocks of (probably) protogine sticking out awkwardly through the snow; and a huge cornice from which big icicles depended, that broke away occasionally and wentskiddlingdown the slope up which we had come. Of the Argentière side I could not see anything.Croz was tied up with our good Manilla rope, and the whole 200 feet were payed out gradually by Almer and Biener before he ceased working. After two hours’ incessant toil, he was able to anchor himself to the rock on his right. He then untied himself, the rope was drawn in, Biener was attached to the end and went down to join his comrade. There was then room enough for me to stand by the side of Almer, and I got my first view of the other side. For the first and only time in my life I looked down a slope more than a thousand feet long, set at an angle of about 50°, which was a sheet of ice from top to bottom. It was unbroken by rock or crag, and[pg 241]anything thrown down it sped away unarrested until the level of the Glacier d’Argentière was reached. The entire basin of that noble[pg 242]glacier188was spread out at our feet, and the ridge beyond, culminating in the Aig. d’Argentière, was seen to the greatest advantage. I confess, however, that I paid very little attention to the view, for there was no time to indulge in such luxuries. I descended the icy staircase and joined the others, and then we three drew in the rope tenderly as Almer came down. His was not an enviable position, but he descended with as much steadiness as if his whole life had been passed on ice-slopes of 50°. The process was repeated; Croz again going to the front, and availing himself very skilfully of the rocks which projected from the cliff on our right. Our 200 feet of rope again came to an end, and we again descended one by one. From this point we were able to clamber down by the rocks alone for about 300 feet. They then became sheer cliff, and we stopped for dinner, about 2.30P.M., at the last place upon which we could sit. Four hours’ incessant work had brought us rather more than half-way down the gully. We were now approaching, although we were still high above, the schrunds at its base, and the guides made out, in some way unknown to me, that Nature had perversely placed the only snow-bridge across the topmost one towards the centre of the gully. It was decided to cut diagonally across the gully to the point where the snow-bridge was supposed to be. Almer and Biener undertook the work, leaving Croz and myself firmly planted on the rocks to pay out the rope to them as they advanced.Illustration: The summit of the Col DolentTHE SUMMIT OF THE COL DOLENT.It is generally admitted that veritable ice-slopes (understanding by ice something more than a crust of hard snow over soft snow) are only rarely met with in the Alps. They are frequently spoken of, but such as that to which I refer areveryrarely seen, and still more seldom traversed. It is, however, always possible that they may be encountered, and on this account, if for no other, it is necessary for men who go mountaineering to be armed with ice-axes, and with good ones. The form is of more importance than[pg 243]might be supposed. Of course, if you intend to act as a simple amateur, and let others do the work, and only follow in their steps, it is not of much importance what kind of ice-axe you carry, so long as its head does not fall off, or otherwise behave itself improperly.189There is no better weapon for cutting steps in ice than a common pick-axe, and the form of ice-axe which is now usually employed by the best guides is very like a miniature pick. My own axe is copied from Melchior Anderegg’s. It is of wrought iron, with point and edge steeled. Its weight, including spiked handle, is four pounds. For cutting steps in ice, the pointed end of the head is almost exclusively employed; the adze-end is handy for polishing them up, but is principally used for cutting in hard snow. Apart from its value as a cutting weapon, it is invaluable as a grapnel. It isnaturallya rather awkward implement when it is not being employed for its legitimate purpose, and is likely to give rise to much strong language in crushes at railway termini, unless its head is protected with a leathern cap, or in some other way. Many attempts have[pg 244]been made, for the sake of convenience, to fashion an ice-axe with a movable head, but it seems difficult or impossible to produce one except at the expense of cutting qualities, and by increasing the weight.Illustration: My ice-axeMY ICE-AXE.Illustration: Kennedy ice-axeKENNEDY ICE-AXE.Illustration: The Leslie Stephen ice-axeTHE“LESLIE STEPHEN”AXE.Mr. T. S. Kennedy (of the firm of Fairbairn & Co.), whose practical acquaintance with mountaineering, and with the use and manufacture of tools, makes his opinion particularly valuable, has contrived the best that I have seen; but even it seems to me to be deficient in rigidity, and not to be so powerful a weapon as the more common kind with the fixed head. The simple instrument which is shown in the annexed diagram is the invention of Mr. Leslie Stephen, and it answers the purposes for which he devised it, namely, for giving better hold upon snow and ice than can be obtained from the common alpenstock, and for cutting an occasional step. The amateur scarcely requires anything more imposing, but for serious ice-work a heavier weapon is indispensable.To persons armed with the proper tools, ice-slopes are not so dangerous as many places which appeal less to the imagination. Their ascent or descent is necessarily laborious (to those who do the work), and they may therefore be termed difficult. Theyoughtnot to be dangerous. Yet they always seem dangerous, for one is profoundly convinced that if he slips he will certainly go to the bottom. Hence, any man, who is not a fool, takes particular care to preserve his balance, and, in consequence, we have the noteworthy[pg 245]fact that accidents have seldom or never taken place upon ice-slopes.The same slopes covered with snow are much less impressive, andmaybe much more dangerous. They may be less slippery, the balance may be more easily preserved, and if one man slips he may be stopped by his own personal efforts, provided the snow which over-lies the ice is consolidated and of a reasonable depth. But if, as is more likely to be the case upon an angle of 50° (or anything approaching that angle), there is only a thin stratum of snow which is not consolidated, the occurrence of a slip will most likely take the entire party as low as possible, and in addition to the chance of broken necks, there will be a strong probability that some, at least, will be smothered by the dislodged snow. Such accidents are far too common, and their occurrence, as a rule, may be traced to the want of caution which is induced by the apparent absence of danger.I do not believe that the use of the rope, in the ordinary way, affords the leastrealsecurity upon ice-slopes. Nor do I think that any benefit is derived from the employment of crampons. Mr. Kennedy was good enough to present me with a pair some time ago, and one of these has been engraved. They are the best variety I have seen of the species, but I only feel comfortable with them on my feet in places where they are not of the slightest use, that is in situations where there is no possibility of slipping, and would not wear them upon an ice-slope for any consideration whatever. All such adventitious aids are useless if you have not a good step in the ice to stand upon, and if you have got that, nothing more is wanted except a few nails in the boots.Illustration: CramponAlmer and Biener got to the end of their tether; the rope no longer assured their safety, and they stopped work as we advanced and coiled it up. Shortly afterwards they struck a streak of snow[pg 246]that proved to be just above the bridge of which they were in search. The slope steepened, and for thirty feet or so we descended face to the wall, making steps by kicking with the toes, and thrusting the arms well into the holes above, just as if they had been rounds in a ladder. At this time we were crossing the uppermost of the schrunds. Needless to say that the snow was of an admirable quality; this performance would otherwise have been impossible. It was soon over, and we then found ourselves upon a huge rhomboidal mass of ice, and still separated from the Argentière glacier by a gigantic crevasse. The only bridge over this lower schrund was at its eastern end, and we were obliged to double back to get to it. Cutting continued for half-an-hour after it was passed, and it was 5.35P.M.before the axes stopped work, and we could at last turn back and look comfortably at the formidable slope upon which seven hours had been spent.190The Col Dolent is not likely to compete with the Col du Géant, and I would recommend any person who starts to cross it to allow himself plenty of time, plenty of rope, and ample guide-power. There is no difficulty whatever upon any part of the route, excepting upon the steep slopes immediately below the summit on each side. When we arrived upon the Glacier d’Argentière, our work was as good as over. We drove a straight track to the chalets of Lognan, and thence the way led over familiar ground. Soon after dusk we got into the high road at les Tines, and at 10P.M.arrived at Chamounix. Our labours were duly rewarded. Houris brought us champagne and the other drinks which are reserved for the faithful, but before my share was consumed I fell asleep in an arm-chair. I slept soundly until daybreak, and then turned into bed and went to sleep again.[pg 247]CHAPTER XVI.THE FIRST ASCENT OF THE AIGUILLE VERTE.“Few have the fortitude of soul to honour,A friend’s success, without a touch of envy.”Æschylus.Michel Croz now parted from us. His new employer had not arrived at Chamounix, but Croz considered that he was bound by honour to wait for him, and thus Christian Almer, of Grindelwald, became my leading guide.Almer displayed aptitude for mountaineering at an early age. Whilst still a very young man he was known as a crack chamois-hunter, and he soon developed into an accomplished guide. Those who have read Mr. Wills’ graphic account of the first ascent of the Wetterhorn191will remember that, when his party was approaching the top of the mountain, two stranger men were seen climbing by a slightly different route, one of whom carried upon his back a young fir-tree, branches, leaves, and all. Mr. Wills’ guides were extremely indignant with these two strangers (who were evidently determined to be the first at the summit), and talked of giving them blows. Eventually they gave them a cake of chocolate instead, and declared that they were good fellows.“Thus the pipe of peace was smoked, and tranquillity reigned between the rival forces.”Christian Almer was one of these two men.This was in 1854. In 1858-9 he made the first ascents of the Eigher and the Mönch, the former with a Mr. Harrington (?), and the latter with Dr. Porges. Since then he has wandered far and[pg 248]near, from Dauphiné to the Tyrol.192With the exception of Melchior Anderegg, there is not, perhaps, another guide of such wide experience, or one who has been so invariably successful; and his numerous employers concur in saying that there is not a truer heart or a surer foot to be found amongst the Alps.Illustration: Portrait of Christian AlmerCHRISTIAN ALMER.193Before recrossing the chain to Courmayeur, we ascended the Aiguille Verte. In company with Mr. Reilly I inspected this mountain from every direction in 1864, and came to the conclusion that an ascent could more easily be made from the south than upon any other side. We set out upon the 28th from Chamounix to attack it, minus Croz, and plus a porter (of whom I will speak more particularly presently), leaving our comrade very downcast at having to kick his heels in idleness, whilst we were about to scale the most celebrated of his native Aiguilles.Our course led us over the old Mer de Glace—the glacier made famous by De Saussure and Forbes. The heat of the day was[pg 249]over, but the little rills and rivulets were still flowing along the surface of the ice: cutting deep troughs where the gradients were small; leaving ripple-marks where the water was with more difficulty confined to one channel; and falling over the precipitous walls of the great crevasses, sometimes in bounding cascades, and sometimes in diffused streams, which marked the perpendicular faces with graceful sinuosities.194As night came on, their music died away, the rivulets dwindled down to rills; the rills ceased to murmur, and the sparkling drops, caught by the hand of frost, were bound to the ice, coating it with an enamelled film which lasted until the sun struck the glacier once more.Illustration: On the Mer de GlaceON THE MER DE GLACE.[pg 250]We camped on the Couvercle (7800) under a great rock, and at 3.15 the next morning started for our aiguille, leaving the porter in charge of the tent and of the food. Two hours’ walking over crisp snow brought us up more than 4000 feet, and within about 1600 feet of the summit. From no other direction can it be approached so closely with equal facility. Thence the mountain steepens. After his late severe piece of ice-work, Almer had a natural inclination for rocks; but the lower rocks of the final peak of the Verte were not inviting, and he went on and on, looking for a way up them, until we arrived in front of a great snow couloir that led from the Glacier de Talèfre right up to the crest of the ridge connecting the summit of the Verte with the mountain called Les Droites. This was the route which I intended to be taken; but Almer pointed out that the gully narrowed at the lower part, and that, if stones fell, we should stand some chance of getting our heads broken; and so we went on still more to the east of the summit, to another and smaller couloir which ran up side by side with the great one. At 5.30 we crossed the schrund which protected the final peak, and, a few minutes afterwards, saw the summit and the whole of the intervening route.“Oh! Aiguille Verte,”said my guide, stopping as he said it,“you are dead, you are dead;”which, being translated into plain English, meant that he was cock-sure we should make its ascent.Almer is a quiet man at all times. When climbing he is taciturn—and this is one of his great merits. A garrulous man is always a nuisance, and upon the mountain-side he may be a danger, for actual climbing requires a man’s whole attention. Added to this, talkative men are hindrances; they are usually thirsty, and a thirsty man is a drag.Guide-books recommend mountain-walkers to suck pebbles, to prevent their throats from becoming parched. There is not much goodness to be got out of the pebbles; but you cannot suck them and keep the mouth open at the same time, and hence the throat does not become dry. It answers just as well to keep the mouth[pg 251]shut, without any pebbles inside,—indeed, I think, better; for if you have occasion to open your mouth, you can do so without swallowing any pebbles.195As a rule, amateurs, and particularly novices,will notkeep their mouths shut. They attempt to“force the pace,”they go faster than they can go without being compelled to open their mouths to breathe, they pant, their throats and tongues become parched, they drink and perspire copiously, and, becoming exhausted, declare that the dryness of the air, or the rarefaction of the air (everything is laid upon the air), is in fault. On several accounts, therefore, a mountain-climber does well to hold his tongue when he is at his work.At the top of the small gully we crossed over the intervening rocks into the large one, and followed it so long as it was filled with snow. At last ice replaced snow, and we turned over to the rocks upon its left. Charming rocks they were; granitic in texture,196gritty, holding the nails well. At 9.45 we parted from them, and completed the ascent by a little ridge of snow which descended in the direction of the Aiguille du Moine. At 10.15 we stood on the summit (13,540), and devoured our bread and cheese with a good appetite.I have already spoken of the disappointing nature of purely panoramic views. That seen from Mont Blanc itself is notoriously unsatisfactory. When you are upon that summit you look down upon all the rest of Europe. There is nothing to look up to; all is below; there is no one point for the eye to rest upon. The man who is there is somewhat in the position of one who has attained all that he desires,—he has nothing to aspire to; his position must needs be unsatisfactory. Upon the summit of the Verte there is not this objection. You see valleys, villages, fields;[pg 252]you see mountains interminable rolling away, lakes resting in their hollows; you hear the tinkling of the sheep-bells as it rises through the clear mountain air, and the roar of the avalanches as they descend to the valleys: but above all there is the great white dome, with its shining crest high above; with its sparkling glaciers that descend between buttresses which support them: with its brilliant snows, purer and yet purer the farther they are removed from this unclean world.197Even upon this mountain-top it was impossible to forget the world, for some vile wretch came to the Jardin and made hideous sounds by blowing through a horn. Whilst we were denouncing him a change came over the weather; cumulous clouds gathered in all directions, and we started off in hot haste. Snow began to fall heavily before we were off the summit-rocks, our track was obscured and frequently lost, and everything became so sloppy and slippery that the descent took as long as the ascent. The schrund was recrossed at 3.15P.M., and thence we raced down to the Couvercle, intending to have a carouse there; but as we rounded our rock a howl broke simultaneously from all three of us, for the porter had taken down the tent, and was in the act of moving off with it.“Stop, there! what are you doing?”He observed that he had thought we were killed, or at least lost, and was going to Chamounix to communicate his ideas to theguide chef.“Unfasten the tent, and get out the food.”Instead of doing so the porter fumbled in his pockets.“Get out the food,”we roared, losing all patience.“Here it is,”said our worthy friend, producing a dirty piece of bread about as big as a halfpenny roll. We three looked solemnly at the fluff-covered morsel. It was past a joke,—he had devoured everything. Mutton, loaves, cheese, wine, eggs, sausages—all was gone—past recovery. It was idle to grumble, and useless to wait. We were light, and could move quickly,—the porter was laden[pg 253]inside and out. We went our hardest,—he had to shuffle and trot. He streamed with perspiration; the mutton and cheese oozed out in big drops,—he larded the glacier. We had our revenge, and dried our clothes at the same time, but when we arrived at the Montanvert the porter was as wet as we had been upon our arrival at the Couvercle. We halted at the inn to get a little food, and at a quarter past eight re-entered Chamounix, amidst firing of cannon and other demonstrations of satisfaction on the part of the hotel-keepers.One would have thought that the ascent of this mountain, which had been frequently assailed before without success, would have afforded some gratification to a population whose chief support is derived from tourists, and that the prospect of the perennial flow of francs which might be expected to result from it would have stifled the jealousy consequent on the success of foreigners.198It was not so. Chamounix stood on its rights. A stranger had ignored the“regulations,”had imported two foreign guides, and, furthermore, he had added injury to that insult—he had not taken a single Chamounix guide. Chamounix would be revenged! It would bully the foreign guides; it would tell them they had lied,—that they had not made the ascent! Where were their proofs? Where was the flag upon the summit?Poor Almer and Biener were accordingly chivied from pillar to post, from one inn to another, and at length complained to me. Peter Perrn, the Zermatt guide, said on the night that we returned that this was to happen, but the story seemed too absurd to be true. I now bade my men go out again, and followed them myself to see the sport. Chamounix was greatly excited. Thebureauof theguide chefwas thronged with clamouring men. Their ringleader—one Zacharie Cachat—a well-known guide, of no particular merit, but not a bad fellow, was haranguing the[pg 254]multitude. He met with more than his match. My friend Kennedy, who was on the spot, heard of the disturbance and rushed into the fray, confronted the burly guide, and thrust back his absurdities into his teeth.There were the materials for a very pretty riot; but they manage these things better in France than we do, and the gensdarmes—three strong—came down and dispersed the crowd. The guides quailed before the cocked hats, and retired to cabarets to take little glasses of absinthe and other liquors more or less injurious to the human frame. Under the influence of these stimulants, they conceived an idea which combined revenge with profit.“You have ascended the Aiguille Verte, you say.Wesay we don’t believe it.Wesay, do it again! Take three of us with you, and we will bet you two thousand francs to one thousand, that you won’t make the ascent!”This proposition was formally notified to me, but I declined it, with thanks, and recommended Kennedy to go in and win. I accepted, however, a hundred franc share in the bet, and calculated upon getting two hundred per cent on my investment. Alas! how vain are human expectations! Zacharie Cachat was put into confinement, and although Kennedy actually ascended the Aiguille a week later, with two Chamounix guides and Peter Perrn, the bet came to nothing.199The weather arranged itself just as this storm in a teapot blew over, and we left at once for the Montanvert, in order to show the Chamouniards the easiest way over the chain of Mont Blanc, in return for the civilities which we had received from them during the past three days.[pg 255]Illustration: Western side of the Col de TalèfreWESTERN SIDE OF THE COL DE TALÈFRE.CHAPTER XVII.THE FIRST PASSAGE OF THE COL DE TALÈFRE.“’Tis more by art than force of numerous strokes.”Homer.The person who discovered the Col du Géant must have been a shrewd mountaineer. The pass was in use before any other was known across the main chain of Mont Blanc, and down to the present time it remains the easiest and quickest route from Chamounix to Courmayeur, with the single exception of the pass that we crossed upon the 3d of July, for the first time, which lies about mid-way between the Aiguille de Triolet and the Aiguille de Talèfre, and which, for want of a better name, I have called the Col de Talèfre.When one looks toward the upper end of the Glacier de Talèfre from the direction of the Jardin or of the Couvercle, the ridge that bounds the view seems to be of little elevation. It is overpowered by the colossal Grandes Jorasses, and by the almost equally magnificent Aiguille Verte. The ridge, notwithstanding, is by no means despicable. At no point is its elevation less than 11,600 feet. It[pg 256]does not look anything like this height. The Glacier de Talèfre mounts with a steady incline, and the eye is completely deceived.In 1864, when prowling about with Mr. Reilly, I instinctively fixed upon a bent couloir which led up from the glacier to the lowest part of the ridge; and when, after crossing the Col de Triolet, I saw that the other side presented no particular difficulty, it seemed to me that this was theonepoint in the whole of the range which would afford an easier passage than the Col du Géant.We set out from the Montanvert at 4A.M.upon July 3, to see whether this opinion was correct, and it fortunately happened that the Rev. A. G. Girdlestone and a friend, with two Chamounix guides, left the inn at the same hour as ourselves, to cross the Col du Géant. We kept in company as far as our routes lay together, and at 9.35 we arrived at the top of our pass, having taken the route to the south of the Jardin. Description is unnecessary, as our track is laid down very clearly on theengravingat the head of this chapter.Much snow had fallen during the late bad weather, and as we reposed upon the top of our pass (which was about 11,650 feet above the level of the sea, and 600 feet above the Col du Géant), we saw that the descent of the rocks which intervened between us and the Glacier de Triolet would require some caution, for the sun’s rays poured down directly upon them, and the snow slipped away every now and then from ledge to ledge just as if it had been water,—in cascades not large enough to be imposing, but sufficient to knock us over if we got in their way. This little bit of cliff consequently took a longer time than it should have done, for when we heard the indescribable swishing, hissing sound which announced a coming fall, we of necessity huddled under the lee of the rocks until the snow ceased to shoot over us.We got to the level of the Glacier de Triolet without misadventure, then steered for its left bank to avoid the upper of its two formidable ice-falls, and after descending the requisite distance by some old snow lying between the glacier and the cliffs which border[pg 257]it, crossed directly to the right bank over the level ice between the two ice-falls.200The right bank was gained without any trouble, and we found there numerous beds of hard snow (avalanche débris) down which we could run or glissade as fast as we liked.Glissading is a very pleasant employment when it is accomplished successfully, and I have never seen a place where it can be more safely indulged in than the snowy valley on the right bank of the Glacier de Triolet. In my dreams I glissade delightfully, but in practice I find that somehow the snow will not behave properly, and that my alpenstockwillget between my legs. Then my legs go where my head should be, and I see the sky revolving at a rapid pace; the snow rises up and smites me, and runs away; and when it is at last overtaken it suddenly stops, and we come into violent collision. Those who are with me say that I tumble head over heels, and there may be some truth in what they say. Streaks of ice are apt to make the heels shoot away, and stray stones cause one to pitch headlong down. Somehow these things always seem to come in the way, so it is as well to glissade only when there is something soft to tumble into.201Illustration: GlissadingNear the termination of the glacier we could not avoid traversing a portion of its abominable moraine, but at 1.30P.M.we were[pg 258]clear of it, and threw ourselves upon some springy turf conscious that our day’s work was over. An hour afterwards we resumed the march, crossed the Doire torrent by a bridge a little below Gruetta, and at five o’clock entered Courmayeur, having occupied somewhat less than ten hours on the way. Mr. Girdlestone’s party came in, I believe, about four hours afterwards, so there was no doubt that we made a shorter pass than the Col du Géant; and I believe we discovered a quicker way of getting from Chamounix to Courmayeur, orvice versa, than will be found elsewhere, so long as the chain of Mont Blanc remains in its present condition.202[pg 259]CHAPTER XVIII.THE FIRST ASCENT OF THE RUINETTE—THE MATTERHORN.“In almost every art, experience is worth more than precepts.”Quintilian.All of the excursions that were set down in my programme had been carried out, with the exception of the ascent of the Matterhorn, and we now turned our faces in its direction, but instead of returningviâthe Val Tournanche, we took a route across country, and bagged upon our way the summit of the Ruinette.We passed the night of July 4, at Aosta, under the roof of the genial Tairraz, and on the 5th went by the Val d’Ollomont and the Col de la Fenêtre (9140) to Chermontane. We slept that night at the chalets of Chanrion (a foul spot, which should be avoided), left them at 3.50 the next morning, and after a short scramble over the slope above, and a half-mile tramp on the glacier de Breney, we crossed directly to the Ruinette, and went almost straight up it. There is not, I suppose, another mountain in the Alps of the same height that can be ascended so easily. You have only to go ahead: upon its southern side one can walk about almost anywhere.Though I speak thus slightingly of a very respectable peak, I will not do anything of the kind in regard to the view which it gives. It is happily placed in respect to the rest of the Pennine Alps, and as a stand-point it has not many superiors. You see mountains, and nothing but mountains. It is a solemn—some would say a dreary—view, but it is very grand. The great Combin (14,164), with its noble background of the whole range of Mont[pg 260]Blanc, never looks so big as it does from here. In the contrary direction, the Matterhorn overpowers all besides. The Dent d’Hérens, although closer, looks a mere outlier of its great neighbour, and the snows of Monte Rosa, behind, seem intended for no other purpose than to give relief to the crags in front. To the south there is an endless array of Bec’s and Becca’s, backed by the great Italian peaks, whilst to the north Mont Pleureur (12,159) holds it own against the more distant Wildstrubel.We gained the summit at 9.15,203and stayed there an hour and a half. My faithful guides then admonished me that Prerayen, whither we were bound, was still far away, and that we had yet to cross two lofty ridges. So we resumed our harness and departed; not, however, before a huge cairn had been built out of the blocks of gneiss with which the summit is bestrewn. Then we trotted down the slopes of the Ruinette, over the glacier de Breney, and across a pass which (if it deserves a name) may be called the Col des Portons, after the neighbouring peaks. Thence we proceeded across the great Otemma glacier towards the Col d’Olen.The part of the glacier that we traversed was overspread with snow which completely concealed its numerous pitfalls. We marched across it in single file, and, of course, roped together. All at once Almer dropped into a crevasse up to his shoulders. I pulled in the rope immediately, but the snow gave way as it was being done, and I had to spread out my arms to stop my descent. Biener held fast, and said afterwards, that his feet went through as well; so, for a moment, all three were in the jaws of the crevasse. We now altered our course, so as to take the fissures transversely, and changed it again after the centre of the glacier was passed, and made directly for the summit of the Col d’Olen.It is scarcely necessary to observe, after what I have said[pg 261]before, that it is my invariable practice to employ a rope when traversing a snow-covered glacier. Many guides, even the best ones, object to be roped, more especially early in the morning, when the snow is hard. They object sometimes, because they think it is unnecessary. Crevasses that are bridged by snow are almost always more or less perceptible by undulations on the surface; the snow droops down, and hollows mark the courses of the chasms beneath. An experienced guide usually notices these almost imperceptible wrinkles, steps one side or the other, as the case may require, and rarely breaks through unawares. Guides think there is no occasion to employ a rope because they think that they will not be taken by surprise. Michel Croz used to be of this opinion. He used to say that only imbeciles and children required to be tied up in the morning. I told him that in this particular matter I was a child to him.“You see these things, my good Croz, and avoid them. I donot, except you point them out to me, and so that which is not a danger to you,isa danger to me.”The sharper one’s eyes get by use, the less is a rope required as a protective against these hidden pitfalls; but, according to my experience, the sight never becomes so keen that they can be avoided with unvarying certainty, and I mentioned what occurred upon the Otemma glacier to show that this is so.I well remember my first passage of the Col Théodule—the easiest of the higher Alpine glacier passes. We had a rope, but my guide said it was not necessary, he knew all the crevasses. However, we did not go a quarter of a mile before he dropped through the snow into a crevasse up to his neck. He was a heavy man, and would scarcely have extricated himself alone; anyhow, he was very glad of my assistance. When he got on to his legs again, he said,“Well, I had no idea that there was a crevasse there!”He no longer objected to use the rope, and we proceeded; upon my part, with greater peace of mind than before. I have crossed the pass fourteen times since then, and have invariably insisted upon being tied together.[pg 262]Guides object to the use of the rope upon snow-covered glacier, because they are afraid of being laughed at by their comrades; and this, perhaps, is the more common reason. To illustrate this, here is another Théodule experience. We arrived at the edge of the ice, and I required to be tied. My guide (a Zermatt man of repute) said that no one used a rope going across that pass. I declined to argue the matter, and we put on the rope; though very much against the wish of my man, who protested that he should have to submit to perpetual ridicule if we met any of his acquaintances. We had not gone very far before we saw a train coming in the contrary direction.“Ah!”cried my man,“there is R—— (mentioning a guide who used to be kept at the Riffel Hotel for the ascent of Monte Rosa); it will be as I said, I shall never hear the end of this.”The guide we met was followed by a string of tom-fools, none of whom were tied together, and had his face covered by a mask to prevent it becoming blistered. After we had passed, I said,“Now, should R—— make any observations to you, ask him why he takes such extraordinary care to preserve the skin of his face, which will grow again in a week, when he neglects such an obvious precaution in regard to his life, which he can only lose once.”This was quite a new idea to my guide, and he said nothing more against the use of the rope so long as we were together.I believe that the unwillingness to use a rope upon snow-covered glacier which born mountaineers not unfrequently exhibit, arises—First, on the part of expert men, from the consciousness that they themselves incur little risk; secondly, on the part of inferior men, from fear of ridicule, and from aping the ways of their superiors; and, thirdly, from pure ignorance or laziness. Whatever may be the reason, I raise up my voice against the neglect of a precaution so simple and so effectual. In my opinion, the very first thing a glacier traveller requires is plenty of good rope.A committee of the English Alpine Club was appointed in 1864 to test, and to report upon, the most suitable ropes for[pg 263]mountaineering purposes, and those which were approved are probably as good as can be found. One is made of Manilla and another of Italian hemp. The former is the heavier, and weighs a little more than an ounce per foot (103 ozs. to 100 feet). The latter weighs 79 ozs. per 100 feet; but I prefer the Manilla rope, because it is more handy to handle. Both of these ropes will sustain 168 lbs. falling 10 feet, or 196 lbs. falling 8 feet, and they break with a dead weight of two tons.204In 1865 we carried two 100 feet lengths of the Manilla rope, and the inconvenience arising from its weight was more than made up for by the security which it afforded. Upon several occasions it was worth more than an extra guide.Now, touching theuseof the rope. There is a right way, and there are wrong ways of using it. I often meet, upon glacier-passes, elegantly got-up persons, who are clearly out of their element, with a guide stalking along in front, who pays no attention to the innocents in his charge. They are tied together as a matter of form, but they evidently have no ideawhythey are tied up, for they walk side by side, or close together, with the rope trailing on the snow. If one tumbles into a crevasse, the rest stare, and say,“La! what is the matter with Smith?”unless, as is more likely, they all tumble in together. This is the wrong way to use a rope. It is abuse of the rope.Illustration: The wrong way to use a rope on glacierIt is of the first importance to keep the rope taut from man to man. If this is not done, there is no real security, and your risks may be considerably magnified. There is little or no difficulty in extricating one man who breaks through a bridged crevasse if the[pg 264]rope is taut; but the case may be very awkward if two break through at the same moment, close together, and there are only two others to aid, or perhaps only one other. Further, the rope ought not upon any account to graze over snow, ice, or rocks, otherwise the strands suffer, and the lives of the whole party may be endangered. Apart from this, it is extremely annoying to have a rope knocking about one’s heels. If circumstances render it impossible for the rope to be kept taut by itself, the men behind should gather it up round their hands,205and not allow it to incommode those in advance. A man must either be incompetent, careless, or selfish, if he permits the rope to dangle about the heels of the person in front of him.Illustration: The right way to use a rope on glacierTHE RIGHT WAY TO USE THE ROPE.The distance from man to man must neither be too great nor too small. About 12 feet between each is sufficient. If there are only two or three persons, it is prudent to allow a little more—say 15 feet. More than this is unnecessary, and less than 9 or 10 feet is not much good.It is essential to examine your rope from time to time to see that it is in good condition. If you are wise you will do this yourself every day. Latterly, I have examined every inch of my rope overnight, and upon more than one occasion have found the strands of the Manilla rope nearly half severed through accidental grazes.[pg 265]Thus far the rope has been supposed to be employed upon level, snow-covered glacier, to prevent any risk from concealed crevasses. On rocks and on slopes it is used for a different purpose (namely, to guard against slips), and in these cases it is equally important to keep it taut, and to preserve a reasonable distance one from the other. It is much more troublesome to keep the rope taut upon slopes than upon the level; and upon difficult rocks it is all but impossible, except by adopting the plan of moving only one at a time (see p. 115).There is no good reason for employing a rope upon easy rocks, and I believe that its needless use is likely to promote carelessness. On difficult rocks and on snow-slopes (frequently improperly called ice-slopes) it is a great advantage to be tied together, provided the rope is handled properly; but upon actual ice-slopes, such as that on the Col Dolent (p. 240), or upon slopes in which ice is mingled with small and loose rocks, such as the upper part of the Pointe des Ecrins, it is almost useless, because a slip made by one person might upset the entire party.206I am not prepared to say, however, that men should not be tied together upon similar slopes. Being attached to others usually gives confidence, and confidence decidedly assists stability. It is more questionable whether men should be in such places at all. If a man can keep on his feet upon anescaliercut in an ice-slope, I see no reason why he should be[pg 266]debarred from making use of that particular form of staircase. If he cannot, let him keep clear of such places.207There would be no advantage in discoursing upon the use of the rope at greater length. A single day upon a mountain’s side will give a clearer idea of the value of a good rope, and of the numerous purposes for which it may be employed, than any one will obtain from reading all that has been written upon the subject; but no one will become really expert in its management without much experience.From the Col d’Olen we proceeded down the Combe of the same name to the chalets of Prerayen, and passed the night of the 6th under the roof of our old acquaintance, the wealthy herdsman. On the 7th we crossed the Va Cornère pass,en routefor Breil. My thoughts were fixed on the Matterhorn, and my guides knew that I wished them to accompany me. They had an aversion to the mountain, and repeatedly expressed their belief that it was useless to try to ascend it.“Anythingbut Matterhorn, dear sir!”said Almer;“anythingbut Matterhorn.”He did not speak of difficulty or of danger, nor was he shirkingwork. He offered to goanywhere; but he entreated that the Matterhorn should be abandoned. Both men spoke fairly enough. They did not think that an ascent could be made; and for their own credit, as well as for my sake, they did not wish to undertake a business which, in their opinion, would only lead to loss of time and money.[pg 267]I sent them by the short cut to Breil, and walked down to Val Tournanche to look for Jean-Antoine Carrel. He was not there. The villagers said that he, and three others, had started on the 6th to try the Matterhorn by the old way, on their own account. They will have no luck, I thought, for the clouds were low down on the mountains; and I walked up to Breil, fully expecting to meet them. Nor was I disappointed. About half-way up I saw a group of men clustered around a chalet upon the other side of the torrent, and, crossing over, found that the party had returned. Jean-Antoine and Cæsar were there, C. E. Gorret, and J. J. Maquignaz. They had had no success. The weather, they said, had been horrible, and they had scarcely reached the glacier du Lion.I explained the situation to Carrel, and proposed that we, with Cæsar and another man, should cross the Théodule by moonlight on the 9th, and that upon the 10th we should pitch the tent as high as possible upon the east face. He was unwilling to abandon the old route, and urged me to try it again. I promised to do so provided the new route failed. This satisfied him, and he agreed to my proposal. I then went up to Breil, and discharged Almer and Biener—with much regret, for no two men ever served me more faithfully or more willingly.208On the next day they crossed to Zermatt.The 8th was occupied with preparations. The weather was stormy; and black, rainy vapours obscured the mountains. Towards evening a young man came from Val Tournanche, and reported that an Englishman was lying there, extremely ill. Now was the time for the performance of my vow;209and on the morning of Sunday the 9th I went down the valley to look after the sick man. On my way I passed a foreign gentleman, with a mule and several porters laden with baggage. Amongst these men were Jean-[pg 268]Antoine and Cæsar, carrying some barometers.“Hullo!”I said,“what are you doing?”They explained that the foreigner had arrived just as they were setting out, and that they were assisting his porters.“Very well; go on to Breil, and await me there; we start at midnight as agreed.”Jean-Antoine then said that he should not be able to serve me after Tuesday the 11th, as he was engaged to travel“with a family of distinction”in the valley of Aosta.“And Cæsar?”“And Cæsar also.”“Why did you not say this before?”“Because,”said he,“it was not settled. The engagement is of long standing, butthe daywas not fixed. When I got back to Val Tournanche on Friday night, after leaving you, I found a letter naming the day.”I could not object to the answer; but the prospect of being left guideless was provoking. They went up, and I down, the valley.The sick man declared that he was better, though the exertion of saying as much tumbled him over on to the floor in a fainting fit. He was badly in want of medicine, and I tramped down to Chatillon to get it. It was late before I returned to Val Tournanche, for the weather was tempestuous, and rain fell in torrents. A figure passed me under the church porch.“Qui vive?”“Jean-Antoine.”“I thought you were at Breil.”“No, sir: when the storms came on I knew we should not start to-night, and so came down to sleep here.”“Ha, Carrel!”I said;“this is a great bore. If to-morrow is not fine we shall not be able to do anything together. I have sent away my guides, relying on you; and now you are going to leave me to travel with a party of ladies. That work is not fit foryou(he smiled, I supposed at the implied compliment); can’t you send some one else instead?”“No, monsieur. I am sorry, but my word is pledged. I should like to accompany you, but I can’t break my engagement.”By this time we had arrived at the inn door.“Well, it is no fault of yours. Come presently with Cæsar, and have some wine.”They came, and we sat up till midnight, recounting our old adventures, in the inn of Val Tournanche.[pg 269]The weather continued bad upon the 10th, and I returned to Breil. The two Carrels were again hovering about the above mentioned chalet, and I bade them adieu. In the evening the sick man crawled up, a good deal better; but his was the only arrival. The Monday crowd210did not cross the Théodule, on account of the continued storms. The inn was lonely. I went to bed early, and was awoke the next morning by the invalid inquiring if I had“heard the news.”“No; what news?”“Why,”said he,“a large party of guides went off this morning to try the Matterhorn, taking with them a mule laden with provisions.”I went to the door, and with a telescope saw the party upon the lower slopes of the mountain. Favre, the landlord, stood by.“What is all this about?”I inquired,“who is the leader of this party?”“Carrel.”“What! Jean-Antoine?”“Yes; Jean-Antoine.”“Is Cæsar there too?”“Yes, he is there.”Then I saw in a moment that I had been bamboozled and humbugged; and learned, bit by bit, that the affair had been arranged long beforehand. The start on the 6th had been for a preliminary reconnaissance; the mule, that I passed, was conveying stores for the attack; the“family of distinction”was Signor F. Giordano, who had just despatched the party to facilitate the way to the summit, and who, when the facilitation was completed, was to be taken to the top along with Signor Sella!211I was greatly mortified. My plans were upset; the Italians had clearly stolen a march upon me, and I saw that the astute Favre chuckled over my discomfiture, because the route by the eastern face, if successful, would not benefit his inn. What was to be done? I retired to my room, and soothed by tobacco, re-studied my plans, to see if it was not possible to outmanœuvre the Italians.“They have taken a mule’s load of provisions.”“Thatisonepoint[pg 270]in my favour, for they will take two or three days to get through the food, and, until that is done, no work will be accomplished.”“How is the weather?”I went to the window. The mountain was smothered up in mist.“Another point in my favour.”“They are to facilitate the way. Well, if they do that to any purpose, it will be a long job.”Altogether, I reckoned that they could not possibly ascend the mountain and come back to Breil in less than seven days. I got cooler, for it was evident that the wily ones might be outwitted after all. There was time enough to go to Zermatt, to try the eastern face, and, should it prove impracticable, to come back to Breil before the men returned; and then, it seemed to me, as the mountain was not padlocked, one might start at the same time as the Messieurs, and yet get to the top before them.The first thing to do was to go to Zermatt. Easier said than done. The seven guides upon the mountain included the ablest men in the valley, and none of the ordinary muleteer-guides were at Breil. Two men, at least, were wanted for my baggage, but not a soul could be found. I ran about, and sent about in all directions, but not a single porter could be obtained. One was with Carrel; another was ill; another was at Chatillon, and so forth. Even Meynet, the hunchback, could not be induced to come; he was in the thick of some important cheese-making operations. I was in the position of a general without an army; it was all very well to make plans, but there was no one to execute them. This did not much trouble me, for it was evident that so long as the weather stopped traffic over the Théodule pass, it would hinder the men equally upon the Matterhorn; and I knew that directly it improved company would certainly arrive.About midday on Tuesday the 11th a large party hove in sight from Zermatt, preceded by a nimble young Englishman, and one of old Peter Taugwalder’s sons.212I went at once to this gentleman to learn if he could dispense with Taugwalder. He said that he[pg 271]could not, as they were going to recross to Zermatt on the morrow, but that the young man should assist in transporting my baggage, as he had nothing to carry. We naturally got into conversation. I told my story, and learned that the young Englishman was Lord Francis Douglas,213whose recent exploit—the ascent of the Gabelhorn—had excited my wonder and admiration. He brought good news. Old Peter had lately been beyond the Hörnli, and had reported that he thought an ascent of the Matterhorn was possible upon that side. Almer had left Zermatt, and could not be recovered, so I determined to seek for old Peter. Lord Francis Douglas expressed a warm desire to ascend the mountain, and before long it was determined that he should take part in the expedition.Favre could no longer hinder our departure, and lent us one of his men. We crossed the Col Théodule on Wednesday morning the 12th of July, rounded the foot of the Ober Théodulgletscher, crossed the Furggengletscher, and deposited tent, blankets, ropes, and other matters in the little chapel at the Schwarzsee.214All four were heavily laden, for we brought across the whole of my stores from Breil. Of rope alone there was about 600 feet. There were three kinds. First, 200 feet of the Manilla rope; second, 150 feet of a stouter, and probably stronger rope than the first; and third, more than 200 feet of a lighter and weaker rope than the first, of a kind that I used formerly (stout sash-line).We descended to Zermatt, sought and engaged old Peter, and gave him permission to choose another guide. When we returned to the Monte Rosa Hotel, whom should we see sitting upon the wall in front but my oldguide chef, Michel Croz. I supposed that he had come with Mr. B——, but I learned that that gentleman had arrived in ill health, at Chamounix, and had returned to England. Croz, thus left free, had been immediately engaged by the Rev. Charles Hudson, and they had come to Zermatt with the[pg 272]same object as ourselves—namely, to attempt the ascent of the Matterhorn!Lord Francis Douglas and I dined at the Monte Rosa, and had just finished when Mr. Hudson and a friend entered thesalle à manger. They had returned from inspecting the mountain, and some idlers in the room demanded their intentions. We heard a confirmation of Croz’s statement, and learned that Mr. Hudson intended to set out on the morrow at the same hour as ourselves. We left the room to consult, and agreed it was undesirable that two independent parties should be on the mountain at the same time with the same object. Mr. Hudson was therefore invited to join us, and he accepted our proposal. Before admitting his friend—Mr. Hadow—I took the precaution to inquire what he had done in the Alps, and, as well as I remember, Mr. Hudson’s reply was,“Mr. Hadow has done Mont Blanc in less time than most men.”He then mentioned several other excursions that were unknown to me, and added, in answer to a further question,“I consider he is a sufficiently good man to go with us.”Mr. Hadow was admitted without any further question, and we then went into the matter of guides. Hudson thought that Croz and old Peter would be sufficient. The question was referred to the men themselves, and they made no objection.So Croz and I became comrades once more; and as I threw myself on my bed and tried to go to sleep, I wondered at the strange series of chances which had first separated us and then brought us together again. I thought of the mistake through which he had accepted the engagement to Mr. B——; of his unwillingness to adopt my route; of his recommendation to transfer our energies to the chain of Mont Blanc; of the retirement of Almer and Biener; of the desertion of Carrel; of the arrival of Lord Francis Douglas; and, lastly, of our meeting at Zermatt; and as I pondered over these things I could not help asking,“What next?”If any one of the links of this fatal chain of circumstances had been omitted, what a different story I should have to tell!

[pg 239]CHAPTER XV.THE FIRST PASSAGE OF THE COL DOLENT.“Men willingly believe what they wish.”—Cæsar.Freethinking mountaineers have been latterly in the habit of going up one side of an Alp and coming down the other, and calling the route a pass. In this confusion of ideas may be recognised the result of the looseness of thought which arises from the absence of technical education. The true believer abhors such heresies, and observes with satisfaction that Providence oftentimes punishes the offenders for their greediness by causing them to be benighted. The faithful know that passes must be madebetweenmountains, and not over their tops. Their creed declares that between any two mountains theremustbe a pass, and they believe that the end for which big peaks were created—the office they are especially designed to fulfil—is to point out the way one should go. This is the true faith, and there is no other.We set out upon the 26th of June to endeavour to add one more to the passes which are strictly orthodox. We hoped, rather than expected, to discover a quicker route from Courmayeur to Chamounix than the Col du Géant, which was the easiest, quickest, and most direct pass known at the time across the main chain of Mont Blanc.187The misgivings which I had as to the result caused us to start at the unusual hour of 12.40A.M.At 4.30 we passed the chalets of Prè du Bar, and thence, for some distance, followed the track which we had made upon the ascent of Mont Dolent, over the[pg 240]glacier of the same name (p. 182). At a quarter past 8 we arrived at the head of the glacier, and at the foot of the only steep gradient upon the whole of the ascent.It was the beau-ideal of a pass. There was a gap in the mountains, with a big peak on each side (Mount Dolent and the Aig. de Triolet). A narrow thread of snow led up to the lowest point between those mountains, and the blue sky beyond said, Directly you arrive here you will begin to go down. We addressed ourselves to our task, and at 10.15A.M.arrived at the top of the pass.Had things gone as they ought, within six hours more we should have been at Chamounix. Upon the other side we knew that there was a couloir in correspondence with that up which we had just come. If it had been filled with snow all would have been well. It turned out to be filled with ice. Croz, who led, passed over to the other side, and reported that we should get down somehow, but I knew from the sound of his axe how the somehow would be, and settled myself to sketch, well assured thatIshould not be wanted for an hour to come. What I saw is shown in theengraving. A sharp aiguille (nameless), perhaps the sharpest in the whole range, backed on the left by the Aig. de Triolet; queer blocks of (probably) protogine sticking out awkwardly through the snow; and a huge cornice from which big icicles depended, that broke away occasionally and wentskiddlingdown the slope up which we had come. Of the Argentière side I could not see anything.Croz was tied up with our good Manilla rope, and the whole 200 feet were payed out gradually by Almer and Biener before he ceased working. After two hours’ incessant toil, he was able to anchor himself to the rock on his right. He then untied himself, the rope was drawn in, Biener was attached to the end and went down to join his comrade. There was then room enough for me to stand by the side of Almer, and I got my first view of the other side. For the first and only time in my life I looked down a slope more than a thousand feet long, set at an angle of about 50°, which was a sheet of ice from top to bottom. It was unbroken by rock or crag, and[pg 241]anything thrown down it sped away unarrested until the level of the Glacier d’Argentière was reached. The entire basin of that noble[pg 242]glacier188was spread out at our feet, and the ridge beyond, culminating in the Aig. d’Argentière, was seen to the greatest advantage. I confess, however, that I paid very little attention to the view, for there was no time to indulge in such luxuries. I descended the icy staircase and joined the others, and then we three drew in the rope tenderly as Almer came down. His was not an enviable position, but he descended with as much steadiness as if his whole life had been passed on ice-slopes of 50°. The process was repeated; Croz again going to the front, and availing himself very skilfully of the rocks which projected from the cliff on our right. Our 200 feet of rope again came to an end, and we again descended one by one. From this point we were able to clamber down by the rocks alone for about 300 feet. They then became sheer cliff, and we stopped for dinner, about 2.30P.M., at the last place upon which we could sit. Four hours’ incessant work had brought us rather more than half-way down the gully. We were now approaching, although we were still high above, the schrunds at its base, and the guides made out, in some way unknown to me, that Nature had perversely placed the only snow-bridge across the topmost one towards the centre of the gully. It was decided to cut diagonally across the gully to the point where the snow-bridge was supposed to be. Almer and Biener undertook the work, leaving Croz and myself firmly planted on the rocks to pay out the rope to them as they advanced.Illustration: The summit of the Col DolentTHE SUMMIT OF THE COL DOLENT.It is generally admitted that veritable ice-slopes (understanding by ice something more than a crust of hard snow over soft snow) are only rarely met with in the Alps. They are frequently spoken of, but such as that to which I refer areveryrarely seen, and still more seldom traversed. It is, however, always possible that they may be encountered, and on this account, if for no other, it is necessary for men who go mountaineering to be armed with ice-axes, and with good ones. The form is of more importance than[pg 243]might be supposed. Of course, if you intend to act as a simple amateur, and let others do the work, and only follow in their steps, it is not of much importance what kind of ice-axe you carry, so long as its head does not fall off, or otherwise behave itself improperly.189There is no better weapon for cutting steps in ice than a common pick-axe, and the form of ice-axe which is now usually employed by the best guides is very like a miniature pick. My own axe is copied from Melchior Anderegg’s. It is of wrought iron, with point and edge steeled. Its weight, including spiked handle, is four pounds. For cutting steps in ice, the pointed end of the head is almost exclusively employed; the adze-end is handy for polishing them up, but is principally used for cutting in hard snow. Apart from its value as a cutting weapon, it is invaluable as a grapnel. It isnaturallya rather awkward implement when it is not being employed for its legitimate purpose, and is likely to give rise to much strong language in crushes at railway termini, unless its head is protected with a leathern cap, or in some other way. Many attempts have[pg 244]been made, for the sake of convenience, to fashion an ice-axe with a movable head, but it seems difficult or impossible to produce one except at the expense of cutting qualities, and by increasing the weight.Illustration: My ice-axeMY ICE-AXE.Illustration: Kennedy ice-axeKENNEDY ICE-AXE.Illustration: The Leslie Stephen ice-axeTHE“LESLIE STEPHEN”AXE.Mr. T. S. Kennedy (of the firm of Fairbairn & Co.), whose practical acquaintance with mountaineering, and with the use and manufacture of tools, makes his opinion particularly valuable, has contrived the best that I have seen; but even it seems to me to be deficient in rigidity, and not to be so powerful a weapon as the more common kind with the fixed head. The simple instrument which is shown in the annexed diagram is the invention of Mr. Leslie Stephen, and it answers the purposes for which he devised it, namely, for giving better hold upon snow and ice than can be obtained from the common alpenstock, and for cutting an occasional step. The amateur scarcely requires anything more imposing, but for serious ice-work a heavier weapon is indispensable.To persons armed with the proper tools, ice-slopes are not so dangerous as many places which appeal less to the imagination. Their ascent or descent is necessarily laborious (to those who do the work), and they may therefore be termed difficult. Theyoughtnot to be dangerous. Yet they always seem dangerous, for one is profoundly convinced that if he slips he will certainly go to the bottom. Hence, any man, who is not a fool, takes particular care to preserve his balance, and, in consequence, we have the noteworthy[pg 245]fact that accidents have seldom or never taken place upon ice-slopes.The same slopes covered with snow are much less impressive, andmaybe much more dangerous. They may be less slippery, the balance may be more easily preserved, and if one man slips he may be stopped by his own personal efforts, provided the snow which over-lies the ice is consolidated and of a reasonable depth. But if, as is more likely to be the case upon an angle of 50° (or anything approaching that angle), there is only a thin stratum of snow which is not consolidated, the occurrence of a slip will most likely take the entire party as low as possible, and in addition to the chance of broken necks, there will be a strong probability that some, at least, will be smothered by the dislodged snow. Such accidents are far too common, and their occurrence, as a rule, may be traced to the want of caution which is induced by the apparent absence of danger.I do not believe that the use of the rope, in the ordinary way, affords the leastrealsecurity upon ice-slopes. Nor do I think that any benefit is derived from the employment of crampons. Mr. Kennedy was good enough to present me with a pair some time ago, and one of these has been engraved. They are the best variety I have seen of the species, but I only feel comfortable with them on my feet in places where they are not of the slightest use, that is in situations where there is no possibility of slipping, and would not wear them upon an ice-slope for any consideration whatever. All such adventitious aids are useless if you have not a good step in the ice to stand upon, and if you have got that, nothing more is wanted except a few nails in the boots.Illustration: CramponAlmer and Biener got to the end of their tether; the rope no longer assured their safety, and they stopped work as we advanced and coiled it up. Shortly afterwards they struck a streak of snow[pg 246]that proved to be just above the bridge of which they were in search. The slope steepened, and for thirty feet or so we descended face to the wall, making steps by kicking with the toes, and thrusting the arms well into the holes above, just as if they had been rounds in a ladder. At this time we were crossing the uppermost of the schrunds. Needless to say that the snow was of an admirable quality; this performance would otherwise have been impossible. It was soon over, and we then found ourselves upon a huge rhomboidal mass of ice, and still separated from the Argentière glacier by a gigantic crevasse. The only bridge over this lower schrund was at its eastern end, and we were obliged to double back to get to it. Cutting continued for half-an-hour after it was passed, and it was 5.35P.M.before the axes stopped work, and we could at last turn back and look comfortably at the formidable slope upon which seven hours had been spent.190The Col Dolent is not likely to compete with the Col du Géant, and I would recommend any person who starts to cross it to allow himself plenty of time, plenty of rope, and ample guide-power. There is no difficulty whatever upon any part of the route, excepting upon the steep slopes immediately below the summit on each side. When we arrived upon the Glacier d’Argentière, our work was as good as over. We drove a straight track to the chalets of Lognan, and thence the way led over familiar ground. Soon after dusk we got into the high road at les Tines, and at 10P.M.arrived at Chamounix. Our labours were duly rewarded. Houris brought us champagne and the other drinks which are reserved for the faithful, but before my share was consumed I fell asleep in an arm-chair. I slept soundly until daybreak, and then turned into bed and went to sleep again.

“Men willingly believe what they wish.”—Cæsar.

“Men willingly believe what they wish.”—Cæsar.

Freethinking mountaineers have been latterly in the habit of going up one side of an Alp and coming down the other, and calling the route a pass. In this confusion of ideas may be recognised the result of the looseness of thought which arises from the absence of technical education. The true believer abhors such heresies, and observes with satisfaction that Providence oftentimes punishes the offenders for their greediness by causing them to be benighted. The faithful know that passes must be madebetweenmountains, and not over their tops. Their creed declares that between any two mountains theremustbe a pass, and they believe that the end for which big peaks were created—the office they are especially designed to fulfil—is to point out the way one should go. This is the true faith, and there is no other.

We set out upon the 26th of June to endeavour to add one more to the passes which are strictly orthodox. We hoped, rather than expected, to discover a quicker route from Courmayeur to Chamounix than the Col du Géant, which was the easiest, quickest, and most direct pass known at the time across the main chain of Mont Blanc.187The misgivings which I had as to the result caused us to start at the unusual hour of 12.40A.M.At 4.30 we passed the chalets of Prè du Bar, and thence, for some distance, followed the track which we had made upon the ascent of Mont Dolent, over the[pg 240]glacier of the same name (p. 182). At a quarter past 8 we arrived at the head of the glacier, and at the foot of the only steep gradient upon the whole of the ascent.

It was the beau-ideal of a pass. There was a gap in the mountains, with a big peak on each side (Mount Dolent and the Aig. de Triolet). A narrow thread of snow led up to the lowest point between those mountains, and the blue sky beyond said, Directly you arrive here you will begin to go down. We addressed ourselves to our task, and at 10.15A.M.arrived at the top of the pass.

Had things gone as they ought, within six hours more we should have been at Chamounix. Upon the other side we knew that there was a couloir in correspondence with that up which we had just come. If it had been filled with snow all would have been well. It turned out to be filled with ice. Croz, who led, passed over to the other side, and reported that we should get down somehow, but I knew from the sound of his axe how the somehow would be, and settled myself to sketch, well assured thatIshould not be wanted for an hour to come. What I saw is shown in theengraving. A sharp aiguille (nameless), perhaps the sharpest in the whole range, backed on the left by the Aig. de Triolet; queer blocks of (probably) protogine sticking out awkwardly through the snow; and a huge cornice from which big icicles depended, that broke away occasionally and wentskiddlingdown the slope up which we had come. Of the Argentière side I could not see anything.

Croz was tied up with our good Manilla rope, and the whole 200 feet were payed out gradually by Almer and Biener before he ceased working. After two hours’ incessant toil, he was able to anchor himself to the rock on his right. He then untied himself, the rope was drawn in, Biener was attached to the end and went down to join his comrade. There was then room enough for me to stand by the side of Almer, and I got my first view of the other side. For the first and only time in my life I looked down a slope more than a thousand feet long, set at an angle of about 50°, which was a sheet of ice from top to bottom. It was unbroken by rock or crag, and[pg 241]anything thrown down it sped away unarrested until the level of the Glacier d’Argentière was reached. The entire basin of that noble[pg 242]glacier188was spread out at our feet, and the ridge beyond, culminating in the Aig. d’Argentière, was seen to the greatest advantage. I confess, however, that I paid very little attention to the view, for there was no time to indulge in such luxuries. I descended the icy staircase and joined the others, and then we three drew in the rope tenderly as Almer came down. His was not an enviable position, but he descended with as much steadiness as if his whole life had been passed on ice-slopes of 50°. The process was repeated; Croz again going to the front, and availing himself very skilfully of the rocks which projected from the cliff on our right. Our 200 feet of rope again came to an end, and we again descended one by one. From this point we were able to clamber down by the rocks alone for about 300 feet. They then became sheer cliff, and we stopped for dinner, about 2.30P.M., at the last place upon which we could sit. Four hours’ incessant work had brought us rather more than half-way down the gully. We were now approaching, although we were still high above, the schrunds at its base, and the guides made out, in some way unknown to me, that Nature had perversely placed the only snow-bridge across the topmost one towards the centre of the gully. It was decided to cut diagonally across the gully to the point where the snow-bridge was supposed to be. Almer and Biener undertook the work, leaving Croz and myself firmly planted on the rocks to pay out the rope to them as they advanced.

Illustration: The summit of the Col DolentTHE SUMMIT OF THE COL DOLENT.

THE SUMMIT OF THE COL DOLENT.

It is generally admitted that veritable ice-slopes (understanding by ice something more than a crust of hard snow over soft snow) are only rarely met with in the Alps. They are frequently spoken of, but such as that to which I refer areveryrarely seen, and still more seldom traversed. It is, however, always possible that they may be encountered, and on this account, if for no other, it is necessary for men who go mountaineering to be armed with ice-axes, and with good ones. The form is of more importance than[pg 243]might be supposed. Of course, if you intend to act as a simple amateur, and let others do the work, and only follow in their steps, it is not of much importance what kind of ice-axe you carry, so long as its head does not fall off, or otherwise behave itself improperly.189There is no better weapon for cutting steps in ice than a common pick-axe, and the form of ice-axe which is now usually employed by the best guides is very like a miniature pick. My own axe is copied from Melchior Anderegg’s. It is of wrought iron, with point and edge steeled. Its weight, including spiked handle, is four pounds. For cutting steps in ice, the pointed end of the head is almost exclusively employed; the adze-end is handy for polishing them up, but is principally used for cutting in hard snow. Apart from its value as a cutting weapon, it is invaluable as a grapnel. It isnaturallya rather awkward implement when it is not being employed for its legitimate purpose, and is likely to give rise to much strong language in crushes at railway termini, unless its head is protected with a leathern cap, or in some other way. Many attempts have[pg 244]been made, for the sake of convenience, to fashion an ice-axe with a movable head, but it seems difficult or impossible to produce one except at the expense of cutting qualities, and by increasing the weight.

Illustration: My ice-axeMY ICE-AXE.

MY ICE-AXE.

Illustration: Kennedy ice-axeKENNEDY ICE-AXE.

KENNEDY ICE-AXE.

Illustration: The Leslie Stephen ice-axeTHE“LESLIE STEPHEN”AXE.

THE“LESLIE STEPHEN”AXE.

Mr. T. S. Kennedy (of the firm of Fairbairn & Co.), whose practical acquaintance with mountaineering, and with the use and manufacture of tools, makes his opinion particularly valuable, has contrived the best that I have seen; but even it seems to me to be deficient in rigidity, and not to be so powerful a weapon as the more common kind with the fixed head. The simple instrument which is shown in the annexed diagram is the invention of Mr. Leslie Stephen, and it answers the purposes for which he devised it, namely, for giving better hold upon snow and ice than can be obtained from the common alpenstock, and for cutting an occasional step. The amateur scarcely requires anything more imposing, but for serious ice-work a heavier weapon is indispensable.

To persons armed with the proper tools, ice-slopes are not so dangerous as many places which appeal less to the imagination. Their ascent or descent is necessarily laborious (to those who do the work), and they may therefore be termed difficult. Theyoughtnot to be dangerous. Yet they always seem dangerous, for one is profoundly convinced that if he slips he will certainly go to the bottom. Hence, any man, who is not a fool, takes particular care to preserve his balance, and, in consequence, we have the noteworthy[pg 245]fact that accidents have seldom or never taken place upon ice-slopes.

The same slopes covered with snow are much less impressive, andmaybe much more dangerous. They may be less slippery, the balance may be more easily preserved, and if one man slips he may be stopped by his own personal efforts, provided the snow which over-lies the ice is consolidated and of a reasonable depth. But if, as is more likely to be the case upon an angle of 50° (or anything approaching that angle), there is only a thin stratum of snow which is not consolidated, the occurrence of a slip will most likely take the entire party as low as possible, and in addition to the chance of broken necks, there will be a strong probability that some, at least, will be smothered by the dislodged snow. Such accidents are far too common, and their occurrence, as a rule, may be traced to the want of caution which is induced by the apparent absence of danger.

I do not believe that the use of the rope, in the ordinary way, affords the leastrealsecurity upon ice-slopes. Nor do I think that any benefit is derived from the employment of crampons. Mr. Kennedy was good enough to present me with a pair some time ago, and one of these has been engraved. They are the best variety I have seen of the species, but I only feel comfortable with them on my feet in places where they are not of the slightest use, that is in situations where there is no possibility of slipping, and would not wear them upon an ice-slope for any consideration whatever. All such adventitious aids are useless if you have not a good step in the ice to stand upon, and if you have got that, nothing more is wanted except a few nails in the boots.

Illustration: Crampon

Almer and Biener got to the end of their tether; the rope no longer assured their safety, and they stopped work as we advanced and coiled it up. Shortly afterwards they struck a streak of snow[pg 246]that proved to be just above the bridge of which they were in search. The slope steepened, and for thirty feet or so we descended face to the wall, making steps by kicking with the toes, and thrusting the arms well into the holes above, just as if they had been rounds in a ladder. At this time we were crossing the uppermost of the schrunds. Needless to say that the snow was of an admirable quality; this performance would otherwise have been impossible. It was soon over, and we then found ourselves upon a huge rhomboidal mass of ice, and still separated from the Argentière glacier by a gigantic crevasse. The only bridge over this lower schrund was at its eastern end, and we were obliged to double back to get to it. Cutting continued for half-an-hour after it was passed, and it was 5.35P.M.before the axes stopped work, and we could at last turn back and look comfortably at the formidable slope upon which seven hours had been spent.190

The Col Dolent is not likely to compete with the Col du Géant, and I would recommend any person who starts to cross it to allow himself plenty of time, plenty of rope, and ample guide-power. There is no difficulty whatever upon any part of the route, excepting upon the steep slopes immediately below the summit on each side. When we arrived upon the Glacier d’Argentière, our work was as good as over. We drove a straight track to the chalets of Lognan, and thence the way led over familiar ground. Soon after dusk we got into the high road at les Tines, and at 10P.M.arrived at Chamounix. Our labours were duly rewarded. Houris brought us champagne and the other drinks which are reserved for the faithful, but before my share was consumed I fell asleep in an arm-chair. I slept soundly until daybreak, and then turned into bed and went to sleep again.

[pg 247]CHAPTER XVI.THE FIRST ASCENT OF THE AIGUILLE VERTE.“Few have the fortitude of soul to honour,A friend’s success, without a touch of envy.”Æschylus.Michel Croz now parted from us. His new employer had not arrived at Chamounix, but Croz considered that he was bound by honour to wait for him, and thus Christian Almer, of Grindelwald, became my leading guide.Almer displayed aptitude for mountaineering at an early age. Whilst still a very young man he was known as a crack chamois-hunter, and he soon developed into an accomplished guide. Those who have read Mr. Wills’ graphic account of the first ascent of the Wetterhorn191will remember that, when his party was approaching the top of the mountain, two stranger men were seen climbing by a slightly different route, one of whom carried upon his back a young fir-tree, branches, leaves, and all. Mr. Wills’ guides were extremely indignant with these two strangers (who were evidently determined to be the first at the summit), and talked of giving them blows. Eventually they gave them a cake of chocolate instead, and declared that they were good fellows.“Thus the pipe of peace was smoked, and tranquillity reigned between the rival forces.”Christian Almer was one of these two men.This was in 1854. In 1858-9 he made the first ascents of the Eigher and the Mönch, the former with a Mr. Harrington (?), and the latter with Dr. Porges. Since then he has wandered far and[pg 248]near, from Dauphiné to the Tyrol.192With the exception of Melchior Anderegg, there is not, perhaps, another guide of such wide experience, or one who has been so invariably successful; and his numerous employers concur in saying that there is not a truer heart or a surer foot to be found amongst the Alps.Illustration: Portrait of Christian AlmerCHRISTIAN ALMER.193Before recrossing the chain to Courmayeur, we ascended the Aiguille Verte. In company with Mr. Reilly I inspected this mountain from every direction in 1864, and came to the conclusion that an ascent could more easily be made from the south than upon any other side. We set out upon the 28th from Chamounix to attack it, minus Croz, and plus a porter (of whom I will speak more particularly presently), leaving our comrade very downcast at having to kick his heels in idleness, whilst we were about to scale the most celebrated of his native Aiguilles.Our course led us over the old Mer de Glace—the glacier made famous by De Saussure and Forbes. The heat of the day was[pg 249]over, but the little rills and rivulets were still flowing along the surface of the ice: cutting deep troughs where the gradients were small; leaving ripple-marks where the water was with more difficulty confined to one channel; and falling over the precipitous walls of the great crevasses, sometimes in bounding cascades, and sometimes in diffused streams, which marked the perpendicular faces with graceful sinuosities.194As night came on, their music died away, the rivulets dwindled down to rills; the rills ceased to murmur, and the sparkling drops, caught by the hand of frost, were bound to the ice, coating it with an enamelled film which lasted until the sun struck the glacier once more.Illustration: On the Mer de GlaceON THE MER DE GLACE.[pg 250]We camped on the Couvercle (7800) under a great rock, and at 3.15 the next morning started for our aiguille, leaving the porter in charge of the tent and of the food. Two hours’ walking over crisp snow brought us up more than 4000 feet, and within about 1600 feet of the summit. From no other direction can it be approached so closely with equal facility. Thence the mountain steepens. After his late severe piece of ice-work, Almer had a natural inclination for rocks; but the lower rocks of the final peak of the Verte were not inviting, and he went on and on, looking for a way up them, until we arrived in front of a great snow couloir that led from the Glacier de Talèfre right up to the crest of the ridge connecting the summit of the Verte with the mountain called Les Droites. This was the route which I intended to be taken; but Almer pointed out that the gully narrowed at the lower part, and that, if stones fell, we should stand some chance of getting our heads broken; and so we went on still more to the east of the summit, to another and smaller couloir which ran up side by side with the great one. At 5.30 we crossed the schrund which protected the final peak, and, a few minutes afterwards, saw the summit and the whole of the intervening route.“Oh! Aiguille Verte,”said my guide, stopping as he said it,“you are dead, you are dead;”which, being translated into plain English, meant that he was cock-sure we should make its ascent.Almer is a quiet man at all times. When climbing he is taciturn—and this is one of his great merits. A garrulous man is always a nuisance, and upon the mountain-side he may be a danger, for actual climbing requires a man’s whole attention. Added to this, talkative men are hindrances; they are usually thirsty, and a thirsty man is a drag.Guide-books recommend mountain-walkers to suck pebbles, to prevent their throats from becoming parched. There is not much goodness to be got out of the pebbles; but you cannot suck them and keep the mouth open at the same time, and hence the throat does not become dry. It answers just as well to keep the mouth[pg 251]shut, without any pebbles inside,—indeed, I think, better; for if you have occasion to open your mouth, you can do so without swallowing any pebbles.195As a rule, amateurs, and particularly novices,will notkeep their mouths shut. They attempt to“force the pace,”they go faster than they can go without being compelled to open their mouths to breathe, they pant, their throats and tongues become parched, they drink and perspire copiously, and, becoming exhausted, declare that the dryness of the air, or the rarefaction of the air (everything is laid upon the air), is in fault. On several accounts, therefore, a mountain-climber does well to hold his tongue when he is at his work.At the top of the small gully we crossed over the intervening rocks into the large one, and followed it so long as it was filled with snow. At last ice replaced snow, and we turned over to the rocks upon its left. Charming rocks they were; granitic in texture,196gritty, holding the nails well. At 9.45 we parted from them, and completed the ascent by a little ridge of snow which descended in the direction of the Aiguille du Moine. At 10.15 we stood on the summit (13,540), and devoured our bread and cheese with a good appetite.I have already spoken of the disappointing nature of purely panoramic views. That seen from Mont Blanc itself is notoriously unsatisfactory. When you are upon that summit you look down upon all the rest of Europe. There is nothing to look up to; all is below; there is no one point for the eye to rest upon. The man who is there is somewhat in the position of one who has attained all that he desires,—he has nothing to aspire to; his position must needs be unsatisfactory. Upon the summit of the Verte there is not this objection. You see valleys, villages, fields;[pg 252]you see mountains interminable rolling away, lakes resting in their hollows; you hear the tinkling of the sheep-bells as it rises through the clear mountain air, and the roar of the avalanches as they descend to the valleys: but above all there is the great white dome, with its shining crest high above; with its sparkling glaciers that descend between buttresses which support them: with its brilliant snows, purer and yet purer the farther they are removed from this unclean world.197Even upon this mountain-top it was impossible to forget the world, for some vile wretch came to the Jardin and made hideous sounds by blowing through a horn. Whilst we were denouncing him a change came over the weather; cumulous clouds gathered in all directions, and we started off in hot haste. Snow began to fall heavily before we were off the summit-rocks, our track was obscured and frequently lost, and everything became so sloppy and slippery that the descent took as long as the ascent. The schrund was recrossed at 3.15P.M., and thence we raced down to the Couvercle, intending to have a carouse there; but as we rounded our rock a howl broke simultaneously from all three of us, for the porter had taken down the tent, and was in the act of moving off with it.“Stop, there! what are you doing?”He observed that he had thought we were killed, or at least lost, and was going to Chamounix to communicate his ideas to theguide chef.“Unfasten the tent, and get out the food.”Instead of doing so the porter fumbled in his pockets.“Get out the food,”we roared, losing all patience.“Here it is,”said our worthy friend, producing a dirty piece of bread about as big as a halfpenny roll. We three looked solemnly at the fluff-covered morsel. It was past a joke,—he had devoured everything. Mutton, loaves, cheese, wine, eggs, sausages—all was gone—past recovery. It was idle to grumble, and useless to wait. We were light, and could move quickly,—the porter was laden[pg 253]inside and out. We went our hardest,—he had to shuffle and trot. He streamed with perspiration; the mutton and cheese oozed out in big drops,—he larded the glacier. We had our revenge, and dried our clothes at the same time, but when we arrived at the Montanvert the porter was as wet as we had been upon our arrival at the Couvercle. We halted at the inn to get a little food, and at a quarter past eight re-entered Chamounix, amidst firing of cannon and other demonstrations of satisfaction on the part of the hotel-keepers.One would have thought that the ascent of this mountain, which had been frequently assailed before without success, would have afforded some gratification to a population whose chief support is derived from tourists, and that the prospect of the perennial flow of francs which might be expected to result from it would have stifled the jealousy consequent on the success of foreigners.198It was not so. Chamounix stood on its rights. A stranger had ignored the“regulations,”had imported two foreign guides, and, furthermore, he had added injury to that insult—he had not taken a single Chamounix guide. Chamounix would be revenged! It would bully the foreign guides; it would tell them they had lied,—that they had not made the ascent! Where were their proofs? Where was the flag upon the summit?Poor Almer and Biener were accordingly chivied from pillar to post, from one inn to another, and at length complained to me. Peter Perrn, the Zermatt guide, said on the night that we returned that this was to happen, but the story seemed too absurd to be true. I now bade my men go out again, and followed them myself to see the sport. Chamounix was greatly excited. Thebureauof theguide chefwas thronged with clamouring men. Their ringleader—one Zacharie Cachat—a well-known guide, of no particular merit, but not a bad fellow, was haranguing the[pg 254]multitude. He met with more than his match. My friend Kennedy, who was on the spot, heard of the disturbance and rushed into the fray, confronted the burly guide, and thrust back his absurdities into his teeth.There were the materials for a very pretty riot; but they manage these things better in France than we do, and the gensdarmes—three strong—came down and dispersed the crowd. The guides quailed before the cocked hats, and retired to cabarets to take little glasses of absinthe and other liquors more or less injurious to the human frame. Under the influence of these stimulants, they conceived an idea which combined revenge with profit.“You have ascended the Aiguille Verte, you say.Wesay we don’t believe it.Wesay, do it again! Take three of us with you, and we will bet you two thousand francs to one thousand, that you won’t make the ascent!”This proposition was formally notified to me, but I declined it, with thanks, and recommended Kennedy to go in and win. I accepted, however, a hundred franc share in the bet, and calculated upon getting two hundred per cent on my investment. Alas! how vain are human expectations! Zacharie Cachat was put into confinement, and although Kennedy actually ascended the Aiguille a week later, with two Chamounix guides and Peter Perrn, the bet came to nothing.199The weather arranged itself just as this storm in a teapot blew over, and we left at once for the Montanvert, in order to show the Chamouniards the easiest way over the chain of Mont Blanc, in return for the civilities which we had received from them during the past three days.[pg 255]Illustration: Western side of the Col de TalèfreWESTERN SIDE OF THE COL DE TALÈFRE.

“Few have the fortitude of soul to honour,A friend’s success, without a touch of envy.”Æschylus.

“Few have the fortitude of soul to honour,A friend’s success, without a touch of envy.”Æschylus.

“Few have the fortitude of soul to honour,

A friend’s success, without a touch of envy.”

Æschylus.

Michel Croz now parted from us. His new employer had not arrived at Chamounix, but Croz considered that he was bound by honour to wait for him, and thus Christian Almer, of Grindelwald, became my leading guide.

Almer displayed aptitude for mountaineering at an early age. Whilst still a very young man he was known as a crack chamois-hunter, and he soon developed into an accomplished guide. Those who have read Mr. Wills’ graphic account of the first ascent of the Wetterhorn191will remember that, when his party was approaching the top of the mountain, two stranger men were seen climbing by a slightly different route, one of whom carried upon his back a young fir-tree, branches, leaves, and all. Mr. Wills’ guides were extremely indignant with these two strangers (who were evidently determined to be the first at the summit), and talked of giving them blows. Eventually they gave them a cake of chocolate instead, and declared that they were good fellows.“Thus the pipe of peace was smoked, and tranquillity reigned between the rival forces.”Christian Almer was one of these two men.

This was in 1854. In 1858-9 he made the first ascents of the Eigher and the Mönch, the former with a Mr. Harrington (?), and the latter with Dr. Porges. Since then he has wandered far and[pg 248]near, from Dauphiné to the Tyrol.192With the exception of Melchior Anderegg, there is not, perhaps, another guide of such wide experience, or one who has been so invariably successful; and his numerous employers concur in saying that there is not a truer heart or a surer foot to be found amongst the Alps.

Illustration: Portrait of Christian AlmerCHRISTIAN ALMER.193

CHRISTIAN ALMER.193

Before recrossing the chain to Courmayeur, we ascended the Aiguille Verte. In company with Mr. Reilly I inspected this mountain from every direction in 1864, and came to the conclusion that an ascent could more easily be made from the south than upon any other side. We set out upon the 28th from Chamounix to attack it, minus Croz, and plus a porter (of whom I will speak more particularly presently), leaving our comrade very downcast at having to kick his heels in idleness, whilst we were about to scale the most celebrated of his native Aiguilles.

Our course led us over the old Mer de Glace—the glacier made famous by De Saussure and Forbes. The heat of the day was[pg 249]over, but the little rills and rivulets were still flowing along the surface of the ice: cutting deep troughs where the gradients were small; leaving ripple-marks where the water was with more difficulty confined to one channel; and falling over the precipitous walls of the great crevasses, sometimes in bounding cascades, and sometimes in diffused streams, which marked the perpendicular faces with graceful sinuosities.194As night came on, their music died away, the rivulets dwindled down to rills; the rills ceased to murmur, and the sparkling drops, caught by the hand of frost, were bound to the ice, coating it with an enamelled film which lasted until the sun struck the glacier once more.

Illustration: On the Mer de GlaceON THE MER DE GLACE.

ON THE MER DE GLACE.

We camped on the Couvercle (7800) under a great rock, and at 3.15 the next morning started for our aiguille, leaving the porter in charge of the tent and of the food. Two hours’ walking over crisp snow brought us up more than 4000 feet, and within about 1600 feet of the summit. From no other direction can it be approached so closely with equal facility. Thence the mountain steepens. After his late severe piece of ice-work, Almer had a natural inclination for rocks; but the lower rocks of the final peak of the Verte were not inviting, and he went on and on, looking for a way up them, until we arrived in front of a great snow couloir that led from the Glacier de Talèfre right up to the crest of the ridge connecting the summit of the Verte with the mountain called Les Droites. This was the route which I intended to be taken; but Almer pointed out that the gully narrowed at the lower part, and that, if stones fell, we should stand some chance of getting our heads broken; and so we went on still more to the east of the summit, to another and smaller couloir which ran up side by side with the great one. At 5.30 we crossed the schrund which protected the final peak, and, a few minutes afterwards, saw the summit and the whole of the intervening route.“Oh! Aiguille Verte,”said my guide, stopping as he said it,“you are dead, you are dead;”which, being translated into plain English, meant that he was cock-sure we should make its ascent.

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

Guide-books recommend mountain-walkers to suck pebbles, to prevent their throats from becoming parched. There is not much goodness to be got out of the pebbles; but you cannot suck them and keep the mouth open at the same time, and hence the throat does not become dry. It answers just as well to keep the mouth[pg 251]shut, without any pebbles inside,—indeed, I think, better; for if you have occasion to open your mouth, you can do so without swallowing any pebbles.195As a rule, amateurs, and particularly novices,will notkeep their mouths shut. They attempt to“force the pace,”they go faster than they can go without being compelled to open their mouths to breathe, they pant, their throats and tongues become parched, they drink and perspire copiously, and, becoming exhausted, declare that the dryness of the air, or the rarefaction of the air (everything is laid upon the air), is in fault. On several accounts, therefore, a mountain-climber does well to hold his tongue when he is at his work.

At the top of the small gully we crossed over the intervening rocks into the large one, and followed it so long as it was filled with snow. At last ice replaced snow, and we turned over to the rocks upon its left. Charming rocks they were; granitic in texture,196gritty, holding the nails well. At 9.45 we parted from them, and completed the ascent by a little ridge of snow which descended in the direction of the Aiguille du Moine. At 10.15 we stood on the summit (13,540), and devoured our bread and cheese with a good appetite.

I have already spoken of the disappointing nature of purely panoramic views. That seen from Mont Blanc itself is notoriously unsatisfactory. When you are upon that summit you look down upon all the rest of Europe. There is nothing to look up to; all is below; there is no one point for the eye to rest upon. The man who is there is somewhat in the position of one who has attained all that he desires,—he has nothing to aspire to; his position must needs be unsatisfactory. Upon the summit of the Verte there is not this objection. You see valleys, villages, fields;[pg 252]you see mountains interminable rolling away, lakes resting in their hollows; you hear the tinkling of the sheep-bells as it rises through the clear mountain air, and the roar of the avalanches as they descend to the valleys: but above all there is the great white dome, with its shining crest high above; with its sparkling glaciers that descend between buttresses which support them: with its brilliant snows, purer and yet purer the farther they are removed from this unclean world.197

Even upon this mountain-top it was impossible to forget the world, for some vile wretch came to the Jardin and made hideous sounds by blowing through a horn. Whilst we were denouncing him a change came over the weather; cumulous clouds gathered in all directions, and we started off in hot haste. Snow began to fall heavily before we were off the summit-rocks, our track was obscured and frequently lost, and everything became so sloppy and slippery that the descent took as long as the ascent. The schrund was recrossed at 3.15P.M., and thence we raced down to the Couvercle, intending to have a carouse there; but as we rounded our rock a howl broke simultaneously from all three of us, for the porter had taken down the tent, and was in the act of moving off with it.“Stop, there! what are you doing?”He observed that he had thought we were killed, or at least lost, and was going to Chamounix to communicate his ideas to theguide chef.“Unfasten the tent, and get out the food.”Instead of doing so the porter fumbled in his pockets.“Get out the food,”we roared, losing all patience.“Here it is,”said our worthy friend, producing a dirty piece of bread about as big as a halfpenny roll. We three looked solemnly at the fluff-covered morsel. It was past a joke,—he had devoured everything. Mutton, loaves, cheese, wine, eggs, sausages—all was gone—past recovery. It was idle to grumble, and useless to wait. We were light, and could move quickly,—the porter was laden[pg 253]inside and out. We went our hardest,—he had to shuffle and trot. He streamed with perspiration; the mutton and cheese oozed out in big drops,—he larded the glacier. We had our revenge, and dried our clothes at the same time, but when we arrived at the Montanvert the porter was as wet as we had been upon our arrival at the Couvercle. We halted at the inn to get a little food, and at a quarter past eight re-entered Chamounix, amidst firing of cannon and other demonstrations of satisfaction on the part of the hotel-keepers.

One would have thought that the ascent of this mountain, which had been frequently assailed before without success, would have afforded some gratification to a population whose chief support is derived from tourists, and that the prospect of the perennial flow of francs which might be expected to result from it would have stifled the jealousy consequent on the success of foreigners.198

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

Poor Almer and Biener were accordingly chivied from pillar to post, from one inn to another, and at length complained to me. Peter Perrn, the Zermatt guide, said on the night that we returned that this was to happen, but the story seemed too absurd to be true. I now bade my men go out again, and followed them myself to see the sport. Chamounix was greatly excited. Thebureauof theguide chefwas thronged with clamouring men. Their ringleader—one Zacharie Cachat—a well-known guide, of no particular merit, but not a bad fellow, was haranguing the[pg 254]multitude. He met with more than his match. My friend Kennedy, who was on the spot, heard of the disturbance and rushed into the fray, confronted the burly guide, and thrust back his absurdities into his teeth.

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

This proposition was formally notified to me, but I declined it, with thanks, and recommended Kennedy to go in and win. I accepted, however, a hundred franc share in the bet, and calculated upon getting two hundred per cent on my investment. Alas! how vain are human expectations! Zacharie Cachat was put into confinement, and although Kennedy actually ascended the Aiguille a week later, with two Chamounix guides and Peter Perrn, the bet came to nothing.199

The weather arranged itself just as this storm in a teapot blew over, and we left at once for the Montanvert, in order to show the Chamouniards the easiest way over the chain of Mont Blanc, in return for the civilities which we had received from them during the past three days.

Illustration: Western side of the Col de TalèfreWESTERN SIDE OF THE COL DE TALÈFRE.

WESTERN SIDE OF THE COL DE TALÈFRE.

CHAPTER XVII.THE FIRST PASSAGE OF THE COL DE TALÈFRE.“’Tis more by art than force of numerous strokes.”Homer.The person who discovered the Col du Géant must have been a shrewd mountaineer. The pass was in use before any other was known across the main chain of Mont Blanc, and down to the present time it remains the easiest and quickest route from Chamounix to Courmayeur, with the single exception of the pass that we crossed upon the 3d of July, for the first time, which lies about mid-way between the Aiguille de Triolet and the Aiguille de Talèfre, and which, for want of a better name, I have called the Col de Talèfre.When one looks toward the upper end of the Glacier de Talèfre from the direction of the Jardin or of the Couvercle, the ridge that bounds the view seems to be of little elevation. It is overpowered by the colossal Grandes Jorasses, and by the almost equally magnificent Aiguille Verte. The ridge, notwithstanding, is by no means despicable. At no point is its elevation less than 11,600 feet. It[pg 256]does not look anything like this height. The Glacier de Talèfre mounts with a steady incline, and the eye is completely deceived.In 1864, when prowling about with Mr. Reilly, I instinctively fixed upon a bent couloir which led up from the glacier to the lowest part of the ridge; and when, after crossing the Col de Triolet, I saw that the other side presented no particular difficulty, it seemed to me that this was theonepoint in the whole of the range which would afford an easier passage than the Col du Géant.We set out from the Montanvert at 4A.M.upon July 3, to see whether this opinion was correct, and it fortunately happened that the Rev. A. G. Girdlestone and a friend, with two Chamounix guides, left the inn at the same hour as ourselves, to cross the Col du Géant. We kept in company as far as our routes lay together, and at 9.35 we arrived at the top of our pass, having taken the route to the south of the Jardin. Description is unnecessary, as our track is laid down very clearly on theengravingat the head of this chapter.Much snow had fallen during the late bad weather, and as we reposed upon the top of our pass (which was about 11,650 feet above the level of the sea, and 600 feet above the Col du Géant), we saw that the descent of the rocks which intervened between us and the Glacier de Triolet would require some caution, for the sun’s rays poured down directly upon them, and the snow slipped away every now and then from ledge to ledge just as if it had been water,—in cascades not large enough to be imposing, but sufficient to knock us over if we got in their way. This little bit of cliff consequently took a longer time than it should have done, for when we heard the indescribable swishing, hissing sound which announced a coming fall, we of necessity huddled under the lee of the rocks until the snow ceased to shoot over us.We got to the level of the Glacier de Triolet without misadventure, then steered for its left bank to avoid the upper of its two formidable ice-falls, and after descending the requisite distance by some old snow lying between the glacier and the cliffs which border[pg 257]it, crossed directly to the right bank over the level ice between the two ice-falls.200The right bank was gained without any trouble, and we found there numerous beds of hard snow (avalanche débris) down which we could run or glissade as fast as we liked.Glissading is a very pleasant employment when it is accomplished successfully, and I have never seen a place where it can be more safely indulged in than the snowy valley on the right bank of the Glacier de Triolet. In my dreams I glissade delightfully, but in practice I find that somehow the snow will not behave properly, and that my alpenstockwillget between my legs. Then my legs go where my head should be, and I see the sky revolving at a rapid pace; the snow rises up and smites me, and runs away; and when it is at last overtaken it suddenly stops, and we come into violent collision. Those who are with me say that I tumble head over heels, and there may be some truth in what they say. Streaks of ice are apt to make the heels shoot away, and stray stones cause one to pitch headlong down. Somehow these things always seem to come in the way, so it is as well to glissade only when there is something soft to tumble into.201Illustration: GlissadingNear the termination of the glacier we could not avoid traversing a portion of its abominable moraine, but at 1.30P.M.we were[pg 258]clear of it, and threw ourselves upon some springy turf conscious that our day’s work was over. An hour afterwards we resumed the march, crossed the Doire torrent by a bridge a little below Gruetta, and at five o’clock entered Courmayeur, having occupied somewhat less than ten hours on the way. Mr. Girdlestone’s party came in, I believe, about four hours afterwards, so there was no doubt that we made a shorter pass than the Col du Géant; and I believe we discovered a quicker way of getting from Chamounix to Courmayeur, orvice versa, than will be found elsewhere, so long as the chain of Mont Blanc remains in its present condition.202

“’Tis more by art than force of numerous strokes.”Homer.

“’Tis more by art than force of numerous strokes.”Homer.

“’Tis more by art than force of numerous strokes.”

Homer.

The person who discovered the Col du Géant must have been a shrewd mountaineer. The pass was in use before any other was known across the main chain of Mont Blanc, and down to the present time it remains the easiest and quickest route from Chamounix to Courmayeur, with the single exception of the pass that we crossed upon the 3d of July, for the first time, which lies about mid-way between the Aiguille de Triolet and the Aiguille de Talèfre, and which, for want of a better name, I have called the Col de Talèfre.

When one looks toward the upper end of the Glacier de Talèfre from the direction of the Jardin or of the Couvercle, the ridge that bounds the view seems to be of little elevation. It is overpowered by the colossal Grandes Jorasses, and by the almost equally magnificent Aiguille Verte. The ridge, notwithstanding, is by no means despicable. At no point is its elevation less than 11,600 feet. It[pg 256]does not look anything like this height. The Glacier de Talèfre mounts with a steady incline, and the eye is completely deceived.

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

We set out from the Montanvert at 4A.M.upon July 3, to see whether this opinion was correct, and it fortunately happened that the Rev. A. G. Girdlestone and a friend, with two Chamounix guides, left the inn at the same hour as ourselves, to cross the Col du Géant. We kept in company as far as our routes lay together, and at 9.35 we arrived at the top of our pass, having taken the route to the south of the Jardin. Description is unnecessary, as our track is laid down very clearly on theengravingat the head of this chapter.

Much snow had fallen during the late bad weather, and as we reposed upon the top of our pass (which was about 11,650 feet above the level of the sea, and 600 feet above the Col du Géant), we saw that the descent of the rocks which intervened between us and the Glacier de Triolet would require some caution, for the sun’s rays poured down directly upon them, and the snow slipped away every now and then from ledge to ledge just as if it had been water,—in cascades not large enough to be imposing, but sufficient to knock us over if we got in their way. This little bit of cliff consequently took a longer time than it should have done, for when we heard the indescribable swishing, hissing sound which announced a coming fall, we of necessity huddled under the lee of the rocks until the snow ceased to shoot over us.

We got to the level of the Glacier de Triolet without misadventure, then steered for its left bank to avoid the upper of its two formidable ice-falls, and after descending the requisite distance by some old snow lying between the glacier and the cliffs which border[pg 257]it, crossed directly to the right bank over the level ice between the two ice-falls.200The right bank was gained without any trouble, and we found there numerous beds of hard snow (avalanche débris) down which we could run or glissade as fast as we liked.

Glissading is a very pleasant employment when it is accomplished successfully, and I have never seen a place where it can be more safely indulged in than the snowy valley on the right bank of the Glacier de Triolet. In my dreams I glissade delightfully, but in practice I find that somehow the snow will not behave properly, and that my alpenstockwillget between my legs. Then my legs go where my head should be, and I see the sky revolving at a rapid pace; the snow rises up and smites me, and runs away; and when it is at last overtaken it suddenly stops, and we come into violent collision. Those who are with me say that I tumble head over heels, and there may be some truth in what they say. Streaks of ice are apt to make the heels shoot away, and stray stones cause one to pitch headlong down. Somehow these things always seem to come in the way, so it is as well to glissade only when there is something soft to tumble into.201

Illustration: Glissading

Near the termination of the glacier we could not avoid traversing a portion of its abominable moraine, but at 1.30P.M.we were[pg 258]clear of it, and threw ourselves upon some springy turf conscious that our day’s work was over. An hour afterwards we resumed the march, crossed the Doire torrent by a bridge a little below Gruetta, and at five o’clock entered Courmayeur, having occupied somewhat less than ten hours on the way. Mr. Girdlestone’s party came in, I believe, about four hours afterwards, so there was no doubt that we made a shorter pass than the Col du Géant; and I believe we discovered a quicker way of getting from Chamounix to Courmayeur, orvice versa, than will be found elsewhere, so long as the chain of Mont Blanc remains in its present condition.202

[pg 259]CHAPTER XVIII.THE FIRST ASCENT OF THE RUINETTE—THE MATTERHORN.“In almost every art, experience is worth more than precepts.”Quintilian.All of the excursions that were set down in my programme had been carried out, with the exception of the ascent of the Matterhorn, and we now turned our faces in its direction, but instead of returningviâthe Val Tournanche, we took a route across country, and bagged upon our way the summit of the Ruinette.We passed the night of July 4, at Aosta, under the roof of the genial Tairraz, and on the 5th went by the Val d’Ollomont and the Col de la Fenêtre (9140) to Chermontane. We slept that night at the chalets of Chanrion (a foul spot, which should be avoided), left them at 3.50 the next morning, and after a short scramble over the slope above, and a half-mile tramp on the glacier de Breney, we crossed directly to the Ruinette, and went almost straight up it. There is not, I suppose, another mountain in the Alps of the same height that can be ascended so easily. You have only to go ahead: upon its southern side one can walk about almost anywhere.Though I speak thus slightingly of a very respectable peak, I will not do anything of the kind in regard to the view which it gives. It is happily placed in respect to the rest of the Pennine Alps, and as a stand-point it has not many superiors. You see mountains, and nothing but mountains. It is a solemn—some would say a dreary—view, but it is very grand. The great Combin (14,164), with its noble background of the whole range of Mont[pg 260]Blanc, never looks so big as it does from here. In the contrary direction, the Matterhorn overpowers all besides. The Dent d’Hérens, although closer, looks a mere outlier of its great neighbour, and the snows of Monte Rosa, behind, seem intended for no other purpose than to give relief to the crags in front. To the south there is an endless array of Bec’s and Becca’s, backed by the great Italian peaks, whilst to the north Mont Pleureur (12,159) holds it own against the more distant Wildstrubel.We gained the summit at 9.15,203and stayed there an hour and a half. My faithful guides then admonished me that Prerayen, whither we were bound, was still far away, and that we had yet to cross two lofty ridges. So we resumed our harness and departed; not, however, before a huge cairn had been built out of the blocks of gneiss with which the summit is bestrewn. Then we trotted down the slopes of the Ruinette, over the glacier de Breney, and across a pass which (if it deserves a name) may be called the Col des Portons, after the neighbouring peaks. Thence we proceeded across the great Otemma glacier towards the Col d’Olen.The part of the glacier that we traversed was overspread with snow which completely concealed its numerous pitfalls. We marched across it in single file, and, of course, roped together. All at once Almer dropped into a crevasse up to his shoulders. I pulled in the rope immediately, but the snow gave way as it was being done, and I had to spread out my arms to stop my descent. Biener held fast, and said afterwards, that his feet went through as well; so, for a moment, all three were in the jaws of the crevasse. We now altered our course, so as to take the fissures transversely, and changed it again after the centre of the glacier was passed, and made directly for the summit of the Col d’Olen.It is scarcely necessary to observe, after what I have said[pg 261]before, that it is my invariable practice to employ a rope when traversing a snow-covered glacier. Many guides, even the best ones, object to be roped, more especially early in the morning, when the snow is hard. They object sometimes, because they think it is unnecessary. Crevasses that are bridged by snow are almost always more or less perceptible by undulations on the surface; the snow droops down, and hollows mark the courses of the chasms beneath. An experienced guide usually notices these almost imperceptible wrinkles, steps one side or the other, as the case may require, and rarely breaks through unawares. Guides think there is no occasion to employ a rope because they think that they will not be taken by surprise. Michel Croz used to be of this opinion. He used to say that only imbeciles and children required to be tied up in the morning. I told him that in this particular matter I was a child to him.“You see these things, my good Croz, and avoid them. I donot, except you point them out to me, and so that which is not a danger to you,isa danger to me.”The sharper one’s eyes get by use, the less is a rope required as a protective against these hidden pitfalls; but, according to my experience, the sight never becomes so keen that they can be avoided with unvarying certainty, and I mentioned what occurred upon the Otemma glacier to show that this is so.I well remember my first passage of the Col Théodule—the easiest of the higher Alpine glacier passes. We had a rope, but my guide said it was not necessary, he knew all the crevasses. However, we did not go a quarter of a mile before he dropped through the snow into a crevasse up to his neck. He was a heavy man, and would scarcely have extricated himself alone; anyhow, he was very glad of my assistance. When he got on to his legs again, he said,“Well, I had no idea that there was a crevasse there!”He no longer objected to use the rope, and we proceeded; upon my part, with greater peace of mind than before. I have crossed the pass fourteen times since then, and have invariably insisted upon being tied together.[pg 262]Guides object to the use of the rope upon snow-covered glacier, because they are afraid of being laughed at by their comrades; and this, perhaps, is the more common reason. To illustrate this, here is another Théodule experience. We arrived at the edge of the ice, and I required to be tied. My guide (a Zermatt man of repute) said that no one used a rope going across that pass. I declined to argue the matter, and we put on the rope; though very much against the wish of my man, who protested that he should have to submit to perpetual ridicule if we met any of his acquaintances. We had not gone very far before we saw a train coming in the contrary direction.“Ah!”cried my man,“there is R—— (mentioning a guide who used to be kept at the Riffel Hotel for the ascent of Monte Rosa); it will be as I said, I shall never hear the end of this.”The guide we met was followed by a string of tom-fools, none of whom were tied together, and had his face covered by a mask to prevent it becoming blistered. After we had passed, I said,“Now, should R—— make any observations to you, ask him why he takes such extraordinary care to preserve the skin of his face, which will grow again in a week, when he neglects such an obvious precaution in regard to his life, which he can only lose once.”This was quite a new idea to my guide, and he said nothing more against the use of the rope so long as we were together.I believe that the unwillingness to use a rope upon snow-covered glacier which born mountaineers not unfrequently exhibit, arises—First, on the part of expert men, from the consciousness that they themselves incur little risk; secondly, on the part of inferior men, from fear of ridicule, and from aping the ways of their superiors; and, thirdly, from pure ignorance or laziness. Whatever may be the reason, I raise up my voice against the neglect of a precaution so simple and so effectual. In my opinion, the very first thing a glacier traveller requires is plenty of good rope.A committee of the English Alpine Club was appointed in 1864 to test, and to report upon, the most suitable ropes for[pg 263]mountaineering purposes, and those which were approved are probably as good as can be found. One is made of Manilla and another of Italian hemp. The former is the heavier, and weighs a little more than an ounce per foot (103 ozs. to 100 feet). The latter weighs 79 ozs. per 100 feet; but I prefer the Manilla rope, because it is more handy to handle. Both of these ropes will sustain 168 lbs. falling 10 feet, or 196 lbs. falling 8 feet, and they break with a dead weight of two tons.204In 1865 we carried two 100 feet lengths of the Manilla rope, and the inconvenience arising from its weight was more than made up for by the security which it afforded. Upon several occasions it was worth more than an extra guide.Now, touching theuseof the rope. There is a right way, and there are wrong ways of using it. I often meet, upon glacier-passes, elegantly got-up persons, who are clearly out of their element, with a guide stalking along in front, who pays no attention to the innocents in his charge. They are tied together as a matter of form, but they evidently have no ideawhythey are tied up, for they walk side by side, or close together, with the rope trailing on the snow. If one tumbles into a crevasse, the rest stare, and say,“La! what is the matter with Smith?”unless, as is more likely, they all tumble in together. This is the wrong way to use a rope. It is abuse of the rope.Illustration: The wrong way to use a rope on glacierIt is of the first importance to keep the rope taut from man to man. If this is not done, there is no real security, and your risks may be considerably magnified. There is little or no difficulty in extricating one man who breaks through a bridged crevasse if the[pg 264]rope is taut; but the case may be very awkward if two break through at the same moment, close together, and there are only two others to aid, or perhaps only one other. Further, the rope ought not upon any account to graze over snow, ice, or rocks, otherwise the strands suffer, and the lives of the whole party may be endangered. Apart from this, it is extremely annoying to have a rope knocking about one’s heels. If circumstances render it impossible for the rope to be kept taut by itself, the men behind should gather it up round their hands,205and not allow it to incommode those in advance. A man must either be incompetent, careless, or selfish, if he permits the rope to dangle about the heels of the person in front of him.Illustration: The right way to use a rope on glacierTHE RIGHT WAY TO USE THE ROPE.The distance from man to man must neither be too great nor too small. About 12 feet between each is sufficient. If there are only two or three persons, it is prudent to allow a little more—say 15 feet. More than this is unnecessary, and less than 9 or 10 feet is not much good.It is essential to examine your rope from time to time to see that it is in good condition. If you are wise you will do this yourself every day. Latterly, I have examined every inch of my rope overnight, and upon more than one occasion have found the strands of the Manilla rope nearly half severed through accidental grazes.[pg 265]Thus far the rope has been supposed to be employed upon level, snow-covered glacier, to prevent any risk from concealed crevasses. On rocks and on slopes it is used for a different purpose (namely, to guard against slips), and in these cases it is equally important to keep it taut, and to preserve a reasonable distance one from the other. It is much more troublesome to keep the rope taut upon slopes than upon the level; and upon difficult rocks it is all but impossible, except by adopting the plan of moving only one at a time (see p. 115).There is no good reason for employing a rope upon easy rocks, and I believe that its needless use is likely to promote carelessness. On difficult rocks and on snow-slopes (frequently improperly called ice-slopes) it is a great advantage to be tied together, provided the rope is handled properly; but upon actual ice-slopes, such as that on the Col Dolent (p. 240), or upon slopes in which ice is mingled with small and loose rocks, such as the upper part of the Pointe des Ecrins, it is almost useless, because a slip made by one person might upset the entire party.206I am not prepared to say, however, that men should not be tied together upon similar slopes. Being attached to others usually gives confidence, and confidence decidedly assists stability. It is more questionable whether men should be in such places at all. If a man can keep on his feet upon anescaliercut in an ice-slope, I see no reason why he should be[pg 266]debarred from making use of that particular form of staircase. If he cannot, let him keep clear of such places.207There would be no advantage in discoursing upon the use of the rope at greater length. A single day upon a mountain’s side will give a clearer idea of the value of a good rope, and of the numerous purposes for which it may be employed, than any one will obtain from reading all that has been written upon the subject; but no one will become really expert in its management without much experience.From the Col d’Olen we proceeded down the Combe of the same name to the chalets of Prerayen, and passed the night of the 6th under the roof of our old acquaintance, the wealthy herdsman. On the 7th we crossed the Va Cornère pass,en routefor Breil. My thoughts were fixed on the Matterhorn, and my guides knew that I wished them to accompany me. They had an aversion to the mountain, and repeatedly expressed their belief that it was useless to try to ascend it.“Anythingbut Matterhorn, dear sir!”said Almer;“anythingbut Matterhorn.”He did not speak of difficulty or of danger, nor was he shirkingwork. He offered to goanywhere; but he entreated that the Matterhorn should be abandoned. Both men spoke fairly enough. They did not think that an ascent could be made; and for their own credit, as well as for my sake, they did not wish to undertake a business which, in their opinion, would only lead to loss of time and money.[pg 267]I sent them by the short cut to Breil, and walked down to Val Tournanche to look for Jean-Antoine Carrel. He was not there. The villagers said that he, and three others, had started on the 6th to try the Matterhorn by the old way, on their own account. They will have no luck, I thought, for the clouds were low down on the mountains; and I walked up to Breil, fully expecting to meet them. Nor was I disappointed. About half-way up I saw a group of men clustered around a chalet upon the other side of the torrent, and, crossing over, found that the party had returned. Jean-Antoine and Cæsar were there, C. E. Gorret, and J. J. Maquignaz. They had had no success. The weather, they said, had been horrible, and they had scarcely reached the glacier du Lion.I explained the situation to Carrel, and proposed that we, with Cæsar and another man, should cross the Théodule by moonlight on the 9th, and that upon the 10th we should pitch the tent as high as possible upon the east face. He was unwilling to abandon the old route, and urged me to try it again. I promised to do so provided the new route failed. This satisfied him, and he agreed to my proposal. I then went up to Breil, and discharged Almer and Biener—with much regret, for no two men ever served me more faithfully or more willingly.208On the next day they crossed to Zermatt.The 8th was occupied with preparations. The weather was stormy; and black, rainy vapours obscured the mountains. Towards evening a young man came from Val Tournanche, and reported that an Englishman was lying there, extremely ill. Now was the time for the performance of my vow;209and on the morning of Sunday the 9th I went down the valley to look after the sick man. On my way I passed a foreign gentleman, with a mule and several porters laden with baggage. Amongst these men were Jean-[pg 268]Antoine and Cæsar, carrying some barometers.“Hullo!”I said,“what are you doing?”They explained that the foreigner had arrived just as they were setting out, and that they were assisting his porters.“Very well; go on to Breil, and await me there; we start at midnight as agreed.”Jean-Antoine then said that he should not be able to serve me after Tuesday the 11th, as he was engaged to travel“with a family of distinction”in the valley of Aosta.“And Cæsar?”“And Cæsar also.”“Why did you not say this before?”“Because,”said he,“it was not settled. The engagement is of long standing, butthe daywas not fixed. When I got back to Val Tournanche on Friday night, after leaving you, I found a letter naming the day.”I could not object to the answer; but the prospect of being left guideless was provoking. They went up, and I down, the valley.The sick man declared that he was better, though the exertion of saying as much tumbled him over on to the floor in a fainting fit. He was badly in want of medicine, and I tramped down to Chatillon to get it. It was late before I returned to Val Tournanche, for the weather was tempestuous, and rain fell in torrents. A figure passed me under the church porch.“Qui vive?”“Jean-Antoine.”“I thought you were at Breil.”“No, sir: when the storms came on I knew we should not start to-night, and so came down to sleep here.”“Ha, Carrel!”I said;“this is a great bore. If to-morrow is not fine we shall not be able to do anything together. I have sent away my guides, relying on you; and now you are going to leave me to travel with a party of ladies. That work is not fit foryou(he smiled, I supposed at the implied compliment); can’t you send some one else instead?”“No, monsieur. I am sorry, but my word is pledged. I should like to accompany you, but I can’t break my engagement.”By this time we had arrived at the inn door.“Well, it is no fault of yours. Come presently with Cæsar, and have some wine.”They came, and we sat up till midnight, recounting our old adventures, in the inn of Val Tournanche.[pg 269]The weather continued bad upon the 10th, and I returned to Breil. The two Carrels were again hovering about the above mentioned chalet, and I bade them adieu. In the evening the sick man crawled up, a good deal better; but his was the only arrival. The Monday crowd210did not cross the Théodule, on account of the continued storms. The inn was lonely. I went to bed early, and was awoke the next morning by the invalid inquiring if I had“heard the news.”“No; what news?”“Why,”said he,“a large party of guides went off this morning to try the Matterhorn, taking with them a mule laden with provisions.”I went to the door, and with a telescope saw the party upon the lower slopes of the mountain. Favre, the landlord, stood by.“What is all this about?”I inquired,“who is the leader of this party?”“Carrel.”“What! Jean-Antoine?”“Yes; Jean-Antoine.”“Is Cæsar there too?”“Yes, he is there.”Then I saw in a moment that I had been bamboozled and humbugged; and learned, bit by bit, that the affair had been arranged long beforehand. The start on the 6th had been for a preliminary reconnaissance; the mule, that I passed, was conveying stores for the attack; the“family of distinction”was Signor F. Giordano, who had just despatched the party to facilitate the way to the summit, and who, when the facilitation was completed, was to be taken to the top along with Signor Sella!211I was greatly mortified. My plans were upset; the Italians had clearly stolen a march upon me, and I saw that the astute Favre chuckled over my discomfiture, because the route by the eastern face, if successful, would not benefit his inn. What was to be done? I retired to my room, and soothed by tobacco, re-studied my plans, to see if it was not possible to outmanœuvre the Italians.“They have taken a mule’s load of provisions.”“Thatisonepoint[pg 270]in my favour, for they will take two or three days to get through the food, and, until that is done, no work will be accomplished.”“How is the weather?”I went to the window. The mountain was smothered up in mist.“Another point in my favour.”“They are to facilitate the way. Well, if they do that to any purpose, it will be a long job.”Altogether, I reckoned that they could not possibly ascend the mountain and come back to Breil in less than seven days. I got cooler, for it was evident that the wily ones might be outwitted after all. There was time enough to go to Zermatt, to try the eastern face, and, should it prove impracticable, to come back to Breil before the men returned; and then, it seemed to me, as the mountain was not padlocked, one might start at the same time as the Messieurs, and yet get to the top before them.The first thing to do was to go to Zermatt. Easier said than done. The seven guides upon the mountain included the ablest men in the valley, and none of the ordinary muleteer-guides were at Breil. Two men, at least, were wanted for my baggage, but not a soul could be found. I ran about, and sent about in all directions, but not a single porter could be obtained. One was with Carrel; another was ill; another was at Chatillon, and so forth. Even Meynet, the hunchback, could not be induced to come; he was in the thick of some important cheese-making operations. I was in the position of a general without an army; it was all very well to make plans, but there was no one to execute them. This did not much trouble me, for it was evident that so long as the weather stopped traffic over the Théodule pass, it would hinder the men equally upon the Matterhorn; and I knew that directly it improved company would certainly arrive.About midday on Tuesday the 11th a large party hove in sight from Zermatt, preceded by a nimble young Englishman, and one of old Peter Taugwalder’s sons.212I went at once to this gentleman to learn if he could dispense with Taugwalder. He said that he[pg 271]could not, as they were going to recross to Zermatt on the morrow, but that the young man should assist in transporting my baggage, as he had nothing to carry. We naturally got into conversation. I told my story, and learned that the young Englishman was Lord Francis Douglas,213whose recent exploit—the ascent of the Gabelhorn—had excited my wonder and admiration. He brought good news. Old Peter had lately been beyond the Hörnli, and had reported that he thought an ascent of the Matterhorn was possible upon that side. Almer had left Zermatt, and could not be recovered, so I determined to seek for old Peter. Lord Francis Douglas expressed a warm desire to ascend the mountain, and before long it was determined that he should take part in the expedition.Favre could no longer hinder our departure, and lent us one of his men. We crossed the Col Théodule on Wednesday morning the 12th of July, rounded the foot of the Ober Théodulgletscher, crossed the Furggengletscher, and deposited tent, blankets, ropes, and other matters in the little chapel at the Schwarzsee.214All four were heavily laden, for we brought across the whole of my stores from Breil. Of rope alone there was about 600 feet. There were three kinds. First, 200 feet of the Manilla rope; second, 150 feet of a stouter, and probably stronger rope than the first; and third, more than 200 feet of a lighter and weaker rope than the first, of a kind that I used formerly (stout sash-line).We descended to Zermatt, sought and engaged old Peter, and gave him permission to choose another guide. When we returned to the Monte Rosa Hotel, whom should we see sitting upon the wall in front but my oldguide chef, Michel Croz. I supposed that he had come with Mr. B——, but I learned that that gentleman had arrived in ill health, at Chamounix, and had returned to England. Croz, thus left free, had been immediately engaged by the Rev. Charles Hudson, and they had come to Zermatt with the[pg 272]same object as ourselves—namely, to attempt the ascent of the Matterhorn!Lord Francis Douglas and I dined at the Monte Rosa, and had just finished when Mr. Hudson and a friend entered thesalle à manger. They had returned from inspecting the mountain, and some idlers in the room demanded their intentions. We heard a confirmation of Croz’s statement, and learned that Mr. Hudson intended to set out on the morrow at the same hour as ourselves. We left the room to consult, and agreed it was undesirable that two independent parties should be on the mountain at the same time with the same object. Mr. Hudson was therefore invited to join us, and he accepted our proposal. Before admitting his friend—Mr. Hadow—I took the precaution to inquire what he had done in the Alps, and, as well as I remember, Mr. Hudson’s reply was,“Mr. Hadow has done Mont Blanc in less time than most men.”He then mentioned several other excursions that were unknown to me, and added, in answer to a further question,“I consider he is a sufficiently good man to go with us.”Mr. Hadow was admitted without any further question, and we then went into the matter of guides. Hudson thought that Croz and old Peter would be sufficient. The question was referred to the men themselves, and they made no objection.So Croz and I became comrades once more; and as I threw myself on my bed and tried to go to sleep, I wondered at the strange series of chances which had first separated us and then brought us together again. I thought of the mistake through which he had accepted the engagement to Mr. B——; of his unwillingness to adopt my route; of his recommendation to transfer our energies to the chain of Mont Blanc; of the retirement of Almer and Biener; of the desertion of Carrel; of the arrival of Lord Francis Douglas; and, lastly, of our meeting at Zermatt; and as I pondered over these things I could not help asking,“What next?”If any one of the links of this fatal chain of circumstances had been omitted, what a different story I should have to tell!

“In almost every art, experience is worth more than precepts.”Quintilian.

“In almost every art, experience is worth more than precepts.”Quintilian.

All of the excursions that were set down in my programme had been carried out, with the exception of the ascent of the Matterhorn, and we now turned our faces in its direction, but instead of returningviâthe Val Tournanche, we took a route across country, and bagged upon our way the summit of the Ruinette.

We passed the night of July 4, at Aosta, under the roof of the genial Tairraz, and on the 5th went by the Val d’Ollomont and the Col de la Fenêtre (9140) to Chermontane. We slept that night at the chalets of Chanrion (a foul spot, which should be avoided), left them at 3.50 the next morning, and after a short scramble over the slope above, and a half-mile tramp on the glacier de Breney, we crossed directly to the Ruinette, and went almost straight up it. There is not, I suppose, another mountain in the Alps of the same height that can be ascended so easily. You have only to go ahead: upon its southern side one can walk about almost anywhere.

Though I speak thus slightingly of a very respectable peak, I will not do anything of the kind in regard to the view which it gives. It is happily placed in respect to the rest of the Pennine Alps, and as a stand-point it has not many superiors. You see mountains, and nothing but mountains. It is a solemn—some would say a dreary—view, but it is very grand. The great Combin (14,164), with its noble background of the whole range of Mont[pg 260]Blanc, never looks so big as it does from here. In the contrary direction, the Matterhorn overpowers all besides. The Dent d’Hérens, although closer, looks a mere outlier of its great neighbour, and the snows of Monte Rosa, behind, seem intended for no other purpose than to give relief to the crags in front. To the south there is an endless array of Bec’s and Becca’s, backed by the great Italian peaks, whilst to the north Mont Pleureur (12,159) holds it own against the more distant Wildstrubel.

We gained the summit at 9.15,203and stayed there an hour and a half. My faithful guides then admonished me that Prerayen, whither we were bound, was still far away, and that we had yet to cross two lofty ridges. So we resumed our harness and departed; not, however, before a huge cairn had been built out of the blocks of gneiss with which the summit is bestrewn. Then we trotted down the slopes of the Ruinette, over the glacier de Breney, and across a pass which (if it deserves a name) may be called the Col des Portons, after the neighbouring peaks. Thence we proceeded across the great Otemma glacier towards the Col d’Olen.

The part of the glacier that we traversed was overspread with snow which completely concealed its numerous pitfalls. We marched across it in single file, and, of course, roped together. All at once Almer dropped into a crevasse up to his shoulders. I pulled in the rope immediately, but the snow gave way as it was being done, and I had to spread out my arms to stop my descent. Biener held fast, and said afterwards, that his feet went through as well; so, for a moment, all three were in the jaws of the crevasse. We now altered our course, so as to take the fissures transversely, and changed it again after the centre of the glacier was passed, and made directly for the summit of the Col d’Olen.

It is scarcely necessary to observe, after what I have said[pg 261]before, that it is my invariable practice to employ a rope when traversing a snow-covered glacier. Many guides, even the best ones, object to be roped, more especially early in the morning, when the snow is hard. They object sometimes, because they think it is unnecessary. Crevasses that are bridged by snow are almost always more or less perceptible by undulations on the surface; the snow droops down, and hollows mark the courses of the chasms beneath. An experienced guide usually notices these almost imperceptible wrinkles, steps one side or the other, as the case may require, and rarely breaks through unawares. Guides think there is no occasion to employ a rope because they think that they will not be taken by surprise. Michel Croz used to be of this opinion. He used to say that only imbeciles and children required to be tied up in the morning. I told him that in this particular matter I was a child to him.“You see these things, my good Croz, and avoid them. I donot, except you point them out to me, and so that which is not a danger to you,isa danger to me.”The sharper one’s eyes get by use, the less is a rope required as a protective against these hidden pitfalls; but, according to my experience, the sight never becomes so keen that they can be avoided with unvarying certainty, and I mentioned what occurred upon the Otemma glacier to show that this is so.

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

Guides object to the use of the rope upon snow-covered glacier, because they are afraid of being laughed at by their comrades; and this, perhaps, is the more common reason. To illustrate this, here is another Théodule experience. We arrived at the edge of the ice, and I required to be tied. My guide (a Zermatt man of repute) said that no one used a rope going across that pass. I declined to argue the matter, and we put on the rope; though very much against the wish of my man, who protested that he should have to submit to perpetual ridicule if we met any of his acquaintances. We had not gone very far before we saw a train coming in the contrary direction.“Ah!”cried my man,“there is R—— (mentioning a guide who used to be kept at the Riffel Hotel for the ascent of Monte Rosa); it will be as I said, I shall never hear the end of this.”The guide we met was followed by a string of tom-fools, none of whom were tied together, and had his face covered by a mask to prevent it becoming blistered. After we had passed, I said,“Now, should R—— make any observations to you, ask him why he takes such extraordinary care to preserve the skin of his face, which will grow again in a week, when he neglects such an obvious precaution in regard to his life, which he can only lose once.”This was quite a new idea to my guide, and he said nothing more against the use of the rope so long as we were together.

I believe that the unwillingness to use a rope upon snow-covered glacier which born mountaineers not unfrequently exhibit, arises—First, on the part of expert men, from the consciousness that they themselves incur little risk; secondly, on the part of inferior men, from fear of ridicule, and from aping the ways of their superiors; and, thirdly, from pure ignorance or laziness. Whatever may be the reason, I raise up my voice against the neglect of a precaution so simple and so effectual. In my opinion, the very first thing a glacier traveller requires is plenty of good rope.

A committee of the English Alpine Club was appointed in 1864 to test, and to report upon, the most suitable ropes for[pg 263]mountaineering purposes, and those which were approved are probably as good as can be found. One is made of Manilla and another of Italian hemp. The former is the heavier, and weighs a little more than an ounce per foot (103 ozs. to 100 feet). The latter weighs 79 ozs. per 100 feet; but I prefer the Manilla rope, because it is more handy to handle. Both of these ropes will sustain 168 lbs. falling 10 feet, or 196 lbs. falling 8 feet, and they break with a dead weight of two tons.204In 1865 we carried two 100 feet lengths of the Manilla rope, and the inconvenience arising from its weight was more than made up for by the security which it afforded. Upon several occasions it was worth more than an extra guide.

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

Illustration: The wrong way to use a rope on glacier

It is of the first importance to keep the rope taut from man to man. If this is not done, there is no real security, and your risks may be considerably magnified. There is little or no difficulty in extricating one man who breaks through a bridged crevasse if the[pg 264]rope is taut; but the case may be very awkward if two break through at the same moment, close together, and there are only two others to aid, or perhaps only one other. Further, the rope ought not upon any account to graze over snow, ice, or rocks, otherwise the strands suffer, and the lives of the whole party may be endangered. Apart from this, it is extremely annoying to have a rope knocking about one’s heels. If circumstances render it impossible for the rope to be kept taut by itself, the men behind should gather it up round their hands,205and not allow it to incommode those in advance. A man must either be incompetent, careless, or selfish, if he permits the rope to dangle about the heels of the person in front of him.

Illustration: The right way to use a rope on glacierTHE RIGHT WAY TO USE THE ROPE.

THE RIGHT WAY TO USE THE ROPE.

The distance from man to man must neither be too great nor too small. About 12 feet between each is sufficient. If there are only two or three persons, it is prudent to allow a little more—say 15 feet. More than this is unnecessary, and less than 9 or 10 feet is not much good.

It is essential to examine your rope from time to time to see that it is in good condition. If you are wise you will do this yourself every day. Latterly, I have examined every inch of my rope overnight, and upon more than one occasion have found the strands of the Manilla rope nearly half severed through accidental grazes.

Thus far the rope has been supposed to be employed upon level, snow-covered glacier, to prevent any risk from concealed crevasses. On rocks and on slopes it is used for a different purpose (namely, to guard against slips), and in these cases it is equally important to keep it taut, and to preserve a reasonable distance one from the other. It is much more troublesome to keep the rope taut upon slopes than upon the level; and upon difficult rocks it is all but impossible, except by adopting the plan of moving only one at a time (see p. 115).

There is no good reason for employing a rope upon easy rocks, and I believe that its needless use is likely to promote carelessness. On difficult rocks and on snow-slopes (frequently improperly called ice-slopes) it is a great advantage to be tied together, provided the rope is handled properly; but upon actual ice-slopes, such as that on the Col Dolent (p. 240), or upon slopes in which ice is mingled with small and loose rocks, such as the upper part of the Pointe des Ecrins, it is almost useless, because a slip made by one person might upset the entire party.206I am not prepared to say, however, that men should not be tied together upon similar slopes. Being attached to others usually gives confidence, and confidence decidedly assists stability. It is more questionable whether men should be in such places at all. If a man can keep on his feet upon anescaliercut in an ice-slope, I see no reason why he should be[pg 266]debarred from making use of that particular form of staircase. If he cannot, let him keep clear of such places.207

There would be no advantage in discoursing upon the use of the rope at greater length. A single day upon a mountain’s side will give a clearer idea of the value of a good rope, and of the numerous purposes for which it may be employed, than any one will obtain from reading all that has been written upon the subject; but no one will become really expert in its management without much experience.

From the Col d’Olen we proceeded down the Combe of the same name to the chalets of Prerayen, and passed the night of the 6th under the roof of our old acquaintance, the wealthy herdsman. On the 7th we crossed the Va Cornère pass,en routefor Breil. My thoughts were fixed on the Matterhorn, and my guides knew that I wished them to accompany me. They had an aversion to the mountain, and repeatedly expressed their belief that it was useless to try to ascend it.“Anythingbut Matterhorn, dear sir!”said Almer;“anythingbut Matterhorn.”He did not speak of difficulty or of danger, nor was he shirkingwork. He offered to goanywhere; but he entreated that the Matterhorn should be abandoned. Both men spoke fairly enough. They did not think that an ascent could be made; and for their own credit, as well as for my sake, they did not wish to undertake a business which, in their opinion, would only lead to loss of time and money.

I sent them by the short cut to Breil, and walked down to Val Tournanche to look for Jean-Antoine Carrel. He was not there. The villagers said that he, and three others, had started on the 6th to try the Matterhorn by the old way, on their own account. They will have no luck, I thought, for the clouds were low down on the mountains; and I walked up to Breil, fully expecting to meet them. Nor was I disappointed. About half-way up I saw a group of men clustered around a chalet upon the other side of the torrent, and, crossing over, found that the party had returned. Jean-Antoine and Cæsar were there, C. E. Gorret, and J. J. Maquignaz. They had had no success. The weather, they said, had been horrible, and they had scarcely reached the glacier du Lion.

I explained the situation to Carrel, and proposed that we, with Cæsar and another man, should cross the Théodule by moonlight on the 9th, and that upon the 10th we should pitch the tent as high as possible upon the east face. He was unwilling to abandon the old route, and urged me to try it again. I promised to do so provided the new route failed. This satisfied him, and he agreed to my proposal. I then went up to Breil, and discharged Almer and Biener—with much regret, for no two men ever served me more faithfully or more willingly.208On the next day they crossed to Zermatt.

The 8th was occupied with preparations. The weather was stormy; and black, rainy vapours obscured the mountains. Towards evening a young man came from Val Tournanche, and reported that an Englishman was lying there, extremely ill. Now was the time for the performance of my vow;209and on the morning of Sunday the 9th I went down the valley to look after the sick man. On my way I passed a foreign gentleman, with a mule and several porters laden with baggage. Amongst these men were Jean-[pg 268]Antoine and Cæsar, carrying some barometers.“Hullo!”I said,“what are you doing?”They explained that the foreigner had arrived just as they were setting out, and that they were assisting his porters.“Very well; go on to Breil, and await me there; we start at midnight as agreed.”Jean-Antoine then said that he should not be able to serve me after Tuesday the 11th, as he was engaged to travel“with a family of distinction”in the valley of Aosta.“And Cæsar?”“And Cæsar also.”“Why did you not say this before?”“Because,”said he,“it was not settled. The engagement is of long standing, butthe daywas not fixed. When I got back to Val Tournanche on Friday night, after leaving you, I found a letter naming the day.”I could not object to the answer; but the prospect of being left guideless was provoking. They went up, and I down, the valley.

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

The weather continued bad upon the 10th, and I returned to Breil. The two Carrels were again hovering about the above mentioned chalet, and I bade them adieu. In the evening the sick man crawled up, a good deal better; but his was the only arrival. The Monday crowd210did not cross the Théodule, on account of the continued storms. The inn was lonely. I went to bed early, and was awoke the next morning by the invalid inquiring if I had“heard the news.”“No; what news?”“Why,”said he,“a large party of guides went off this morning to try the Matterhorn, taking with them a mule laden with provisions.”

I went to the door, and with a telescope saw the party upon the lower slopes of the mountain. Favre, the landlord, stood by.“What is all this about?”I inquired,“who is the leader of this party?”“Carrel.”“What! Jean-Antoine?”“Yes; Jean-Antoine.”“Is Cæsar there too?”“Yes, he is there.”Then I saw in a moment that I had been bamboozled and humbugged; and learned, bit by bit, that the affair had been arranged long beforehand. The start on the 6th had been for a preliminary reconnaissance; the mule, that I passed, was conveying stores for the attack; the“family of distinction”was Signor F. Giordano, who had just despatched the party to facilitate the way to the summit, and who, when the facilitation was completed, was to be taken to the top along with Signor Sella!211

I was greatly mortified. My plans were upset; the Italians had clearly stolen a march upon me, and I saw that the astute Favre chuckled over my discomfiture, because the route by the eastern face, if successful, would not benefit his inn. What was to be done? I retired to my room, and soothed by tobacco, re-studied my plans, to see if it was not possible to outmanœuvre the Italians.

“They have taken a mule’s load of provisions.”“Thatisonepoint[pg 270]in my favour, for they will take two or three days to get through the food, and, until that is done, no work will be accomplished.”“How is the weather?”I went to the window. The mountain was smothered up in mist.“Another point in my favour.”“They are to facilitate the way. Well, if they do that to any purpose, it will be a long job.”Altogether, I reckoned that they could not possibly ascend the mountain and come back to Breil in less than seven days. I got cooler, for it was evident that the wily ones might be outwitted after all. There was time enough to go to Zermatt, to try the eastern face, and, should it prove impracticable, to come back to Breil before the men returned; and then, it seemed to me, as the mountain was not padlocked, one might start at the same time as the Messieurs, and yet get to the top before them.

The first thing to do was to go to Zermatt. Easier said than done. The seven guides upon the mountain included the ablest men in the valley, and none of the ordinary muleteer-guides were at Breil. Two men, at least, were wanted for my baggage, but not a soul could be found. I ran about, and sent about in all directions, but not a single porter could be obtained. One was with Carrel; another was ill; another was at Chatillon, and so forth. Even Meynet, the hunchback, could not be induced to come; he was in the thick of some important cheese-making operations. I was in the position of a general without an army; it was all very well to make plans, but there was no one to execute them. This did not much trouble me, for it was evident that so long as the weather stopped traffic over the Théodule pass, it would hinder the men equally upon the Matterhorn; and I knew that directly it improved company would certainly arrive.

About midday on Tuesday the 11th a large party hove in sight from Zermatt, preceded by a nimble young Englishman, and one of old Peter Taugwalder’s sons.212I went at once to this gentleman to learn if he could dispense with Taugwalder. He said that he[pg 271]could not, as they were going to recross to Zermatt on the morrow, but that the young man should assist in transporting my baggage, as he had nothing to carry. We naturally got into conversation. I told my story, and learned that the young Englishman was Lord Francis Douglas,213whose recent exploit—the ascent of the Gabelhorn—had excited my wonder and admiration. He brought good news. Old Peter had lately been beyond the Hörnli, and had reported that he thought an ascent of the Matterhorn was possible upon that side. Almer had left Zermatt, and could not be recovered, so I determined to seek for old Peter. Lord Francis Douglas expressed a warm desire to ascend the mountain, and before long it was determined that he should take part in the expedition.

Favre could no longer hinder our departure, and lent us one of his men. We crossed the Col Théodule on Wednesday morning the 12th of July, rounded the foot of the Ober Théodulgletscher, crossed the Furggengletscher, and deposited tent, blankets, ropes, and other matters in the little chapel at the Schwarzsee.214All four were heavily laden, for we brought across the whole of my stores from Breil. Of rope alone there was about 600 feet. There were three kinds. First, 200 feet of the Manilla rope; second, 150 feet of a stouter, and probably stronger rope than the first; and third, more than 200 feet of a lighter and weaker rope than the first, of a kind that I used formerly (stout sash-line).

We descended to Zermatt, sought and engaged old Peter, and gave him permission to choose another guide. When we returned to the Monte Rosa Hotel, whom should we see sitting upon the wall in front but my oldguide chef, Michel Croz. I supposed that he had come with Mr. B——, but I learned that that gentleman had arrived in ill health, at Chamounix, and had returned to England. Croz, thus left free, had been immediately engaged by the Rev. Charles Hudson, and they had come to Zermatt with the[pg 272]same object as ourselves—namely, to attempt the ascent of the Matterhorn!

Lord Francis Douglas and I dined at the Monte Rosa, and had just finished when Mr. Hudson and a friend entered thesalle à manger. They had returned from inspecting the mountain, and some idlers in the room demanded their intentions. We heard a confirmation of Croz’s statement, and learned that Mr. Hudson intended to set out on the morrow at the same hour as ourselves. We left the room to consult, and agreed it was undesirable that two independent parties should be on the mountain at the same time with the same object. Mr. Hudson was therefore invited to join us, and he accepted our proposal. Before admitting his friend—Mr. Hadow—I took the precaution to inquire what he had done in the Alps, and, as well as I remember, Mr. Hudson’s reply was,“Mr. Hadow has done Mont Blanc in less time than most men.”He then mentioned several other excursions that were unknown to me, and added, in answer to a further question,“I consider he is a sufficiently good man to go with us.”Mr. Hadow was admitted without any further question, and we then went into the matter of guides. Hudson thought that Croz and old Peter would be sufficient. The question was referred to the men themselves, and they made no objection.

So Croz and I became comrades once more; and as I threw myself on my bed and tried to go to sleep, I wondered at the strange series of chances which had first separated us and then brought us together again. I thought of the mistake through which he had accepted the engagement to Mr. B——; of his unwillingness to adopt my route; of his recommendation to transfer our energies to the chain of Mont Blanc; of the retirement of Almer and Biener; of the desertion of Carrel; of the arrival of Lord Francis Douglas; and, lastly, of our meeting at Zermatt; and as I pondered over these things I could not help asking,“What next?”If any one of the links of this fatal chain of circumstances had been omitted, what a different story I should have to tell!

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