The night was fine but dark, the moon not having risen yet. Onwards and upwards we went in silence, and with slow and measured tread, keeping at distances of about twelve feet apart. We had not proceeded very far before we came to a dead stop, and on enquiring of S—— what it meant, he replied that FranÇois' nose was bleeding. This is one of the many inconveniences to which one is liable at these altitudes. On looking back we saw a light advancing, and as it came nearer and nearer we made out the figures of a party of six men crawling slowly in our direction. They were the noisy foreigners who had not added to our comfort in the "Cabane." On drawing near a great deal of talk went on between their guides and ours in patois. Then they went ahead, and, FranÇois having recovered, we followed them closely, as soon as the route—concerning which there appeared to be some doubt—had been agreed upon. The work was tiresome, with nothing to look at besides the snow under our feet, and no excitement of any description, not even the jumping of a crevasse. To add to the monotony, talking was prohibited, for, having made some remarks to Jules as we went along, I was advised by him not to speak; and no doubt he was right, as a certain amount of exertion was necessary to carry on a conversation, separated as we were by an interval of several yards. This portion of the journey was decidedly uphill work, figuratively as well as literally. At about two o'clock the moon appeared above the tops of the mountains, and although it had just entered the last quarter, it afforded sufficient light to enable FranÇois to dispense with the lantern, which he left on the snow; on several occasions we stopped a considerable time while mounting the steep slopes, without any apparent reason.

At last, becoming quite impatient, I asked S—— to pass the word to FranÇois to get ahead of the "foreigners." He preferred, however, to follow in their path, thinking that the track must be rather more easy by being beaten down. Although so thinly clad I did not suffer in the least from cold, except in my feet, which was not to be wondered at, considering that my socks were cotton, and that my boots, damp at starting, were now wet through. On nearing the Petit Plateau we went up a slope which was nearly perpendicular. It was not snow, for that substance could not have stood at so steep an angle; and it was not hard ice, but nÉvÉ—its consistence was much the same as that of an ice pudding; by giving a smart kick the foot entered sufficiently to afford a good hold. It was really very steep, and at the same time a particularly easy bit of climbing; but, had we been photographed, the uninitiated would have marvelled at our daring. After this we walked on the level for a short distance, and arrived in full sight of the Petit Plateau before reaching which we we went along some very narrow ridges of ice with deep crevasses on either side, then up some snow slopes, at the top of which we stood on the Plateau. This we crossed at as rapid a pace as circumstances permitted on account of the danger of falling avalanches that beset this spot. The guides will have it that the slightest disturbance of the atmosphere, such as can be created by the human voice, is sufficient to cause a disaster; and as it is always as well to practice obedience, we proceeded on our way without uttering a word.

So far I had not experienced any difficulty of breathing, nor had I suffered from thirst; but soon after quitting the Grands Mulets I felt a dryness in the mouth and throat, and then I tried the effects of a raisin; but not being satisfied with the result, took a prune, and, discarding the fruit, rolled the stone in my mouth, from which process I derived great benefit. Plodding steadily upwards, we asked from time to time whether we were not yet half way? "No, sir; not till we arrive at the Grand Plateau, and it is some distance off yet."

How we longed for day-light, that the monotony of this night excursion might be broken by the sight of the grand scenery which, though surrounding, was almost invisible to us!

Before the Grand Plateau was reached we stopped for refreshment. We had been tramping for nearly four hours, and it was needed. The knapsack was opened, and a bottle of wine produced, but what about the corkscrew?

Left behind of course! So FranÇois volunteered to operate with his ice-axe, but as he was far less expert in decapitating a bottle than in hewing steps, a considerable portion of the contents was lost. It was not long before we resumed our march, and having nearly traversed the Grand Plateau another halt was made, and this time we meant to eat as well as drink. Not feeling hungry I was told by our fellows that no one had much appetite up here. Then the remaining bottle of claret was uncorked with care, and after we had partaken of its contents sparingly, it was deposited in the snow for our return. Much as we should have liked to sit down and rest we could not do so, for reposing on a bed of snow was not to be thought of. Resuming our journey we soon came up with and passed the other party who were grouped together apparently engaged in our late occupation. Dawn now began to break, and stopping for a few minutes at the foot of a long and regular incline I said to S—— "Well, have have you had enough of it?" To my inexpressible surprise, he answered "Yes, I feel so ill that I do not think I shall be able to go on, and the summit seems as far off as ever." It was now broad day-light, and we were little more than half-way.

"Oh! come on, women have done it, and why should not we?"

"I am ill, and your talking in that way only makes me worse."

Then I called FranÇois, who made light of it, remarking that feelings of sickness are often experienced in this locality; the flask was produced, and we took a little nip all round, and went on.

After going a short distance, S—— said, "I feel dreadfully ill, I never felt so bad in my life, it is impossible for me to go on. I could not reach the Plateau for £10,000. Go on, and I will find my way back to the Grands Mulets, somehow."

"That's out of the question; you can't get there alone, and as there is no help for it, we must all go back." Then I told FranÇois, and the poor fellow's countenance at once fell below zero.

This was his first ascent as guide, although he had accompanied other parties as porter on eleven previous occasions. Matters certainly looked gloomy at this moment. S—— not only appeared the picture of misery, but was undoubtedly very ill—suffering, in fact, from mountain sickness; he complained of internal cold and shivered all over, besides experiencing other sensations which are best described in his own words,—"It seemed as though all power had departed from my limbs, my eyes were dim and incapable of vision, and I more than once put my hand to them and my ears and mouth to make sure that blood was not spurting forth."

Feeling averse to beat a hasty retreat after all the toil that had been undergone, and when the end was so comparatively near, and hoping against hope that S—— might yet be able to reach the summit, we tried to make him as comfortable as possible. A seat was made on the snow with alpenstocks and ice-axe handles, and Jules goodnaturedly took off his jacket, in which he wrapped the invalid. It was near this very spot that Sir Thomas Talfourd's expedition was forced to return through the same cause in 1843. At this time the other party came in sight, crawling slowly up the slope of snow, walking in single file, and roped together. On moving past us and noticing that there was something amiss, one of the guides observed to me:

"You are all right, or you would not be able to smoke." They then discovered that we were going back, and the same fellow who had just spoken to me said, "Do you wish to make the ascent, sir?"

"Of course I do; that is why I am here."

"Then untie yourself and fasten on to our line, and come on."

"Yes, with pleasure, if your employers are willing."

Whispering was carried on, and, after some conversation in patois, FranÇois announced that they were not willing.

Then S—— rose up, quietly remarking:

"We had better get on."

"You can't do it, man; you are far too ill."

"I will, if I die for it!"

Without further talk we made a fresh start up this interminable slope. The indignation S—— felt at the churlish behaviour of the "foreigners" completely restored him, the effect produced being the same as intense excitement on those who are suffering from mal-de-mer. I pictured to myself the fun we should have on our way back, and the railway speed with which we should come down, but I quite left out of the calculation what the condition of the snow might be a few hours hence. It was broad day-light when we reached the top of the incline, and the sun's welcome rays were beginning to brighten up the aiguilles and peaks on our left. Looking back the spectacle was not only grand and beautiful but weird-like, and the perfect stillness that reigned made it all the more impressive. The valley of Chamonix was filled with clouds, not mere fog or mist, but real clouds rolling beneath us, and slowly rising up the mountains whose rugged peaks and sharp-pointed aiguilles reared their graceful heads against a back ground of unclouded sky. The scene was one to be remembered, and we felt that we were beginning to reap the fruits of our five hours toil. Travelling was fairly easy, the snow being in splendid condition, and as there was no danger to be guarded against we were able to devote the whole of our attention to the scenery. The summit shining white certainly appeared nearer than it did from the Hotel d'Angleterre, but not so close as we should have expected after the hours we had spent in journeying towards it. Arriving at the Rochers des Bosses, some low, flat rocks, scarcely rising above the surrounding snow, their surfaces rent by the severity of the climate into thousands of sharp jagged pieces of stone, we sat down to rest for the first time since quitting the Grands Mulets. Lying down on this hard but welcome couch, and warmed by the sun now shining brightly upon us, we surveyed the remaining portion of the task before us—the 1,500 feet and more—yet to be mounted, immense fields of snow to be traversed, les Bosses du Dromadaire to be climbed—and then the final slope. Having "lighted up" I felt in a very contented mood, then an involuntary nod reminded me that we had not slept since the night before last,—puff—nod—puff—then a longer doze.

"FranÇois, I should like to have a snooze."

"You must not, sir!"

"It can't do any harm."

"You must not!"

"Then the sooner we are off the better, for there is a lot of work to be done yet."

Getting up lazily, we buckled to once more, and surmounting first the Grande and then the Petite Bosse, we approached a pure white ridge, sharp as a knife, and apparently vertical. Wondering how FranÇois would steer, whether to the right or left, so as to scale one of the sides, I was surprised to see him direct his steps to the centre. "Surely he does not intend to go up that frightful ridge! He does, though!" and on reaching it he informed us that it was the Mauvaise ArÊte; and a more wicked back-bone could scarcely be conceived.

This was the spot which was visited by Pierre Balmat, Marie Couttet, FranÇois Paccard, and several others, when exploring the mountain on the 8th of June, 1786. They described it as a "huge ridge which connected the top of Mont Blanc with the DÔme du GoÛtÉ, but it was so steep and narrow that its passage was impossible;" and having concluded that the summit was inaccessible by this route, they returned to Chamonix. The Corridor and Mur de la CÔte is the route generally followed, but this one is somewhat shorter and less fatiguing, though more difficult. It cannot, however, be made use of unless the weather is calm. Speaking for myself, I did not relish the prospect of climbing that knife edge, which was frightfully steep, scarcely a foot in width, apparently several hundred feet high, and its sides not very far removed from the perpendicular. Acting on the principle that when a disagreeable thing has to be done the sooner the better, we did not linger at the base, but went straight at it, slowly and with the greatest care, for we were now on ice. Before taking a step our alpenstocks were firmly driven in, which was a most laborious operation, although the surface was sufficiently soft to enable us to do so by stabbing it several times on each occasion. FranÇois had by far the heaviest task to perform, for he had constantly to use his axe in cutting steps. How long this went on I am unable to say, perhaps half an hour, most likely more; all I know is that ultimately we found ourselves standing in a happy frame of mind on the snow, which was almost level, and here we rested, panting, after our exertions, and then walking forward almost on a level the foot of the last slope was soon reached, and now the final assault was begun.

The work was very stiff, though by no means difficult or dangerous, and we stopped more than once. Feeling very tired I remarked to FranÇois:

"Well, I confess that I am fatigued."

"And so are we, sir," was his laconic reply.

During the whole of the ascent I had not experienced so much difficulty in walking as now. I felt as though I had a greater weight to support, and compare the work to carrying a heavy load up a long flight of stairs. And this was not to be wondered at, considering that the density of the air at this elevation is as nearly as possible half that at the level of the sea. Going up the ArÊte the pause between each step, whilst the alpenstock was being driven in, was sufficiently long to afford a rest. Then again, the mind was so occupied that fatigue, though doubtless present, passed unnoticed. But neither at this nor at any other time did I experience any difficulty of breathing or feelings of suffocation.

At last the goal was reached!—we stood on the summit of Mont Blanc!

The customary salute of three guns was fired from Chamonix; the bottle of champagne was drunk with the usual toasts; and, having shaken hands all round, we turned our attention to the world below—on which we did not seem to stand, but rather on some huge white cloud. Above the sky was a clear, unbroken atmosphere of blue; far beneath the spot on which we stood detached fields of clouds covered the landscape, and, uniting with the horizon, had the appearance of a vast sea; some of them, rising above the rest, resembled island rocks, while others towered up like gigantic cliffs.

Monte Rosa, the rival of Mont Blanc, though rearing its proud head far above the ocean of clouds, seemed but a mere rock. The Jura was scarcely visible; the BrÉvent was indistinct; the Mont Maudit, Tacul, and the other peaks of the Mont Blanc range, though near and unclouded, were dwarfed into insignificance as we looked down upon them. There was no inclination to identify mountain, lake, or city, but rather to gaze in silence on that vast and weird-like scene.