“Faits pour servir À l’Histoire des Montagnes de l’Oisans,” by Elie de Beaumont, in the Annales des Mines.
Norway and its Glaciers; followed by Excursions in the High Alps of DauphinÉ. By J. D. Forbes.
The following works also treat more or less of the districts referred to in this chapter:—
Outline Sketches in the High Alps of DauphinÉ, by T. G. Bonney.
Histoire des Hautes-Alpes, by J. C. F. Ladoucette.
ItinÉraire du DauphinÉ, by Adolphe Joanne (2nd part).
Tour du Monde, 1860, edited by Ed. Charton.
The Israel of the Alps, by Alexis Muston.
A Memoir of Felix Neff, by W. S. Gilly.
Good pictures of DauphinÉ scenery are to be found in Voyages Pittoresques dans l’ancienne France, by Ch. Nodier, J. Taylor, and A. de Cailleux, and in Lord Monson’s Views in the Departments of the IsÈre and the High Alps.
M. Puiseux took for guide a man named Pierre BornÉoud, of Claux in the Val Louise; who had accompanied Captain Durand in 1828. In 1861, the expedition of M. Puiseux was quite forgotten in the Val Louise. I am indebted to M. Puiseux for the above and other details.
This is a common saying in DauphinÉ. It means that there is usually less snow on the mountains during these days than at any other time of the year. The natives have an almost childish dread of venturing upon snow or glaciers, and hence the period of minimum snow seems to them to be the most favourable time for excursions.
Monte Viso is not seen from the Lautaret Road. That this is so is seen when one crosses the Col du Galibier, on the south side of which pass the Monte Viso is visible for a short time.
It became a regular business. “We find amongst the current accounts of the Bailiff of Embrun this singular article—‘Item, for persecuting the Vaudois, eight sols and thirty deniers of gold.’ ”—Muston, vol. i. p. 38.
On the 22d of May 1393, eighty persons of the valleys of FreissiniÈres and ArgentiÈre, and one hundred and fifty persons of the Val Louise, were burnt at Embrun.—Muston, vol. i. p. 41.
The commune of the Val Louise contains at the present time about 3400 inhabitants. This crÉtin population has been aptly described by M. ElisÉe Reclus in the Tour du Monde, 1860. He says:—“They attain the highest possible development of their intelligence in their infancy, and—abundantly provided with majestic goÎtres, which are lengthened and swollen by age—are in this respect like to the ourangoutangs, who have nothing more to acquire after the age of three years. At the age of five years the little crÉtins have already the placid and mature expression which they ought to keep all their lives.... They wear trousers, and coats with tails, and a large black hat.”
M. Puiseux, on his expedition of 1848, was surprised, when at breakfast on the side of the mountain, by a mass of rock of more than a cubic yard falling like a bomb at his side, which threw up splinters in all directions.
This mountain is the culminating point of the group, and is named on the French map, Pointe des Ecrins. It is seen from the Val Christophe, and from that direction its ridges completely conceal Mont Pelvoux. On the other side—that is, from the direction of La BessÉe or the Val Louise—the reverse is the case: the Pelvoux completely conceals it.
Unaware that this name was going to be applied to it, we gave the name Pic des Arcines or des Ecrins to our summit, in accordance with the traditions of the natives.
There are three cols or passes close to Monte Viso on its northern side, which lead from the valley of the Po into that of the Guil. The deep notch spoken of above is the nearest to the mountain, and although it is by far the lowest gap in that part of the chain, and would seem to be the true Col Viso, it does not appear to be used as a pass. The second, which I crossed in 1860, has the name Col del Color del Porco given to it upon the Sardinian map! The third is the Col de la Traversette; and this, although higher than at least one of those mentioned above, is that which is used by the natives who pass from one valley to the other.
This ridge is seen on the left of the large engraving accompanying this chapter; and if the reader consults this view, the explanatory outlines, and the maps, he will be able to form a fair idea of the points which were attained on this and on the subsequent attempts.
Since this time the small peak has received the name TÊte du Lion. The gap is now called the Col du Lion; the glacier at its base, the Glacier du Lion; and the gully which connects the Col with the glacier, the Couloir du Lion.
I learned afterwards from Jean-Antoine Carrel that they got considerably higher than upon their previous attempts, and about 250 or 300 feet higher than Professor Tyndall in 1860. In 1862 I saw the initials of J. A. Carrel cut on the rocks at the place where he and his comrade had turned back.
This man proved to be both willing and useful on lower ground, and voluntarily accompanied me a considerable distance out of his way, without fee or reward.
Mountaineering in 1861, pp. 86-7. Tyndall and Bennen were mistaken in supposing that the mountain has two summits; it has only one. They seem to have been deceived by the appearance of that part of the south-west ridge which is called “the shoulder” (l’Épaule), as seen from Breil. Viewed from that place, its southern end has certainly, through foreshortening, the semblance of a peak; but when one regards it from the Col ThÉodule, or from any place in the same direction, the delusion is at once apparent.
The late Principal Forbes was similarly situated while crossing the same pass in 1842. He described the sounds as rustling, fizzing, and hissing. See his Travels in the Alps of Savoy, second ed., p. 323. Mr. R. Spence Watson experienced the same upon the upper part of the Aletsch glacier in July 1863, and he spoke of the sounds as singing or hissing. See the AthenÆum, Sept. 12, 1863. The respective parties seem to have been highly electrified on each occasion. Forbes says that his fingers “yielded a fizzing sound;” and Watson says that his “hair stood on end in an uncomfortable but very amusing manner,” and that “the veil on the wide-awake of one of the party stood upright in the air!”
I have described this tent at length, as frequent application has been made to me for information on the subject. I would strongly recommend any person who wishes to have one for long-continued use, to have one made under his own eye, and to be particularly careful to test the poles. My experience goes to show that poles which (when supported upon their extremities) will bear a dead weight of 100 lbs. suspended from their centres, will stand any wind to which they are likely to be submitted. Ash is, perhaps, the best wood that can be selected. Tents of this pattern have been used, amongst others, by Messrs. Freshfield, Moore, and Tucker, in the Caucasus; by the Rev. W. H. Hawker in Corsica; and by myself in Greenland.
The heights given on the outlines of the Matterhorn accompanying Chap. III., on the geological section in the Appendix, and quoted throughout the book, are after the barometric (mercurial) measurements of Signor F. Giordano in 1866 and 1868. I have ventured to differ from him only in regard to the height of the second tent-platform, and have assigned to it a somewhat lower elevation than his estimate.
Those which I collected were as follow:—Myosotis alpestris, Gm.; Veronica alpina, L.; Linaria alpina, M.; Gentiana Bavarica, L.; Thlaspi rotundifolium, Gaud.; Silene acaulis, L. (?); Potentilla sp.; Saxifraga sp.; Saxifraga muscoides, Wulf. I am indebted for these names to Mr. William Carruthers of the British Museum. These plants ranged from about 10,500 to a little below 13,000 feet, and are the highest which I have seen anywhere in the Alps. Several times this number of species might be collected, I have no doubt, within these limits. I was not endeavouring to make a flora of the Matterhorn, but to obtain those plants which attained the greatest height. Very few lichens are seen on the higher parts of this mountain; their rarity is due, doubtless, to the constant disintegration of the rocks, and the consequent exposure of fresh surfaces. Silene acaulis was the highest plant found by De Saussure on his travels in the Alps. He mentions (§ 2018) that he found a tuft “near the place where I slept on my return (from the ascent of Mont Blanc), about 1780 toises (11,388 feet) above the level of the sea.”
Mr. William Mathews and Mr. Charles Packe, who have botanised respectively for many years in the Alps and Pyrenees, have favoured me with the names of the highest plants that they have obtained upon their excursions. Their lists, although not extensive, are interesting as showing the extreme limits attained by some of the hardiest of Alpine plants. Those mentioned by Mr. Mathews are—Campanula renisia (on the Grivola, 12,047 feet); Saxifraga bryoides and Androsace glacialis (on the summits of Mont Emilius, 11,677, and the Ruitor, 11,480); Ranunculus glacialis, Armeria alpina, and Pyrethrum alpinum (on Monte Viso, from 10,000 to 10,500 feet); Thlaspi rotundifolium and Saxifraga biflora (Monte Viso, about 9500 feet); and Campanula rotundifolia (?), Artemisia spicata (Wulf.), Aronicum Doronicum, and Petrocallis Pyrenaica (Col de SeyliÈres, 9247).
Mr. Packe obtained, on or close to the summit of the Pic de Mulhahacen, Sierra Nevada, of Granada (11,600 to 11,700 feet), Papaver alpinum (var. Pyrenaicum), Artemisia Nevadensis (used for giving the flavour to the Manzanilla sherry), Viola Nevadensis, Galium Pyrenaicum, Trisetum glaciale, Festuca Clementei, Saxifraga Groenlandica (var. Mista), Erigeron alpinum (var. glaciale), and Arenaria tetraquetra. On the Picacho de Veleta (11,440 feet), and on the Alcazaba (11,350), the same plants were obtained, with the exception of the first named. At a height of 11,150 feet on these mountains he also collected Ptilotrichum purpureum, Lepidium stylatum, and Biscutella saxatilis; and, at 10,000 feet, Alyssum spicatum and Sideritis scordiodes. Mr. Packe mentions the following plants as occurring at 9000 to 10,000 feet in the Pyrenees:—Cerastium latifolium, Draba Wahlenbergii, Hutchinsia alpina, Linaria alpina, Oxyria reniformis, Ranunculus glacialis, Saxifraga nervosa, S. oppositifolia, S. Groenlandica, Statice Armeria, Veronica alpina.
Information on the botany of the Val Tournanche is contained in the little pamphlet by the late Canon G. Carrel, entitled La VallÉe de Valtornenche en 1867; and a list of the plants which have hitherto been collected on the glacier-surrounded ridge (Furgen Grat) connecting the Matterhorn with the Col ThÉodule, will be found in Dollfus-Ausset’s MatÉriaux pour l’Étude des Glaciers, vol. viii. part first, 1868. In the Jahrbuch for 1873 of the Swiss Alpine Club it is stated that on an ascent of the Finsteraarhorn (14,106 feet) the following were collected within the last 1000 feet:—Saxifraga bryoides, S. Muscoides, Achillea atrata, and Ranunculus glacialis.
I have already had occasion to mention the rapid changes which occur in the weather at considerable elevations in the Alps, and shall have to do so again in subsequent chapters. No one can regret more than myself the variable weather which afflicts that otherwise delightful chain of mountains, or the necessity of speaking about it: its summits appear to enjoy more than their fair share of wind and tempests. Meteorological disturbances, some would say, are by no means necessary accompaniments of high regions. There are some happy places which are said to be favoured with almost perpetual calm. Take the case of the Sierra Nevada of California, for example, which includes numerous summits from 13,000 to 15,000 feet. Mr. Whitney, of San Francisco, says (in his Guide-book to the Yosemite Valley, and the adjacent region), “At high altitudes, all through the mountains, the weather during the summer is almost always the finest possible for travelling. There are occasional storms in the high mountains; but, in ordinary seasons, these are quite rare, and one of the greatest drawbacks to the pleasure of travelling in the Alps, the uncertainty of the weather, is here almost entirely wanting.” It is probable that a more thorough acquaintance with that region will modify this opinion; for it must be admitted that it is very difficult to judge of the state of the atmosphere at great heights from the valleys, and it often occurs that a terrific storm is raging above when there is a dead calm below, at a distance perhaps of not more than three or four miles. A case of this kind is described in Chapter VI., and another may be mentioned here. At the very time that I was regarding the Dent Blanche from a height of 12,550 feet on the Matterhorn, Mr. T. S. Kennedy was engaged in making the first ascent of the former mountain. He described his ascent in a very picturesque paper in the Alpine Journal (1863), and I learn from it that he experienced severe weather. “The wind roared over our ridge, making fearfully wild music among the desolate crags.... It rendered an ordinary voice inaudible,” and “nothing at a distance greater than fifty yards could be seen at all.... Thick mists and driving clouds of snow swept over and past us;” the thermometer fell to 20° Fahr., and his companion’s hair became a mass of white icicles. Now, at this time, Mr. Kennedy was distant from me only four and a half miles. With me, and in my immediate neighbourhood, the air was perfectly calm, and the temperature was agreeably warm; even during the night it fell only two or three degrees below freezing-point. During most of the day the Dent Blanche was perfectly unclouded, though, for a time, light fleecy clouds were hovering about its upper 2000 feet. Still no one would have supposed from appearances that my friend was experiencing a storm such as he has described.
A remarkable streak of snow (marked “cravate” in the outline of the Matterhorn, as seen from the ThÉodule) runs across the cliff at this part of the mountain. My highest point was somewhat higher than the lowest part of this snow, and was consequently about 13,400 feet above the sea.
As it seldom happens that one survives such a fall, it may be interesting to record what my sensations were during its occurrence. I was perfectly conscious of what was happening, and felt each blow; but, like a patient under chloroform, experienced no pain. Each blow was, naturally, more severe than that which preceded it, and I distinctly remember thinking, “Well, if the next is harder still, that will be the end!” Like persons who have been rescued from drowning, I remember that the recollection of a multitude of things rushed through my head, many of them trivialities or absurdities, which had been forgotten long before; and, more remarkable, this bounding through space did not feel disagreeable. But I think that in no very great distance more, consciousness as well as sensation would have been lost, and upon that I base my belief, improbable as it seems, that death by a fall from a great height is as painless an end as can be experienced.
The battering was very rough, yet no bones were broken. The most severe cuts were one of four inches long on the top of the head, and another of three inches on the right temple: this latter bled frightfully. There was a formidable-looking cut, of about the same size as the last, on the palm of the left hand, and every limb was grazed, or cut, more or less seriously. The tips of the ears were taken off, and a sharp rock cut a circular bit out of the side of the left boot, sock, and ankle, at one stroke. The loss of blood, although so great, did not seem to be permanently injurious. The only serious effect has been the reduction of a naturally retentive memory to a very common-place one; and although my recollections of more distant occurrences remain unshaken, the events of that particular day would be clean gone but for the few notes which were written down before the accident.
An incident like this goes far to make one look favourably upon the rÈglements of Chamounix and other places. This could not have occurred at Chamounix, nor here, if there had been a bureau des guides.
This appeared to be the most difficult part of the mountain. One was driven to keep to the edge of the ridge, or very near to it; and at the point where we turned back (which was almost as high as the highest part of the “cravate,” and perhaps 100 feet higher than my scramble on the 19th) there were smooth walls seven or eight feet high in every direction, which were impassable to a single man, and which could only be surmounted by the assistance of ladders, or by using one’s comrades as ladders.
Professor Tyndall describes this incident in the following words:—“We had gathered up our traps, and bent to the work before us, when suddenly an explosion occurred overhead. We looked aloft and saw in mid-air a solid shot from the Matterhorn describing its proper parabola, and finally splitting into fragments as it smote one of the rocky towers in front. Down the shattered fragments came like a kind of spray, slightly wide of us, but still near enough to compel a sharp look-out. Two or three such explosions occurred, but we chose the back fin of the mountain for our track, and from this the falling stones were speedily deflected right or left.”—Saturday Review, Aug. 8, 1863. Reprinted in Macmillan’s Magazine, April, 1869.
I have entered into this matter because much surprise has been expressed that Carrel was able to pass this place without any great difficulty in 1865, which turned back so strong a party in 1862. The cause of Professor Tyndall’s defeat was simply that his second guide (Walter) did not give aid to Bennen when it was required, and that the Carrels would not act as guides after having been hired as porters. J.-A. Carrel not only knew of the existence of this place before they came to it, but always believed in the possibility of passing it, and of ascending the mountain; and had he been leader to the party, I do not doubt that he might have taken Tyndall to the top. But when appealed to to assist Bennen (a Swiss, and the recognised leader of the party), was it likely that he (an Italian, a porter), who intended to be the first man up the mountain by a route which he regarded peculiarly his own, would render any aid?
It is not so easy to understand how Dr. Tyndall and Bennen overlooked the existence of this cleft, for it is seen over several points of the compass, and particularly well from the southern side of the ThÉodule pass. Still more difficult is it to explain how the Professor came to consider that he was only a stone’s-throw from the summit; for, when he got to the end of “the shoulder,” he must have been perfectly aware that the whole height of the final peak was still above him.
Information upon the Val Tournanche will be found in De Saussure’s Voyages dans les Alpes, vol. iv. pp. 379-81, 406-9; in Canon Carrel’s pamphlet, La VallÉe de Valtornenche en 1867; and in King’s Italian Valleys of the Alps, pp. 220-1.
The summit of the ThÉodule pass is 10,899 feet above the sea. It is estimated that of late about a thousand tourists have crossed it per annum. In the winter, when the crevasses are bridged over and partially filled up, and the weather is favourable, cows and sheep pass over it from Zermatt to Val Tournanche, and vice versa.
In the middle of August, 1792, De Saussure appears to have taken mules from Breil, over the Val Tournanche glacier to the summit of the ThÉodule; and on a previous journey he did the same, also in the middle of August. He distinctly mentions (§ 2220) that the glacier was completely covered with snow, and that no crevasses were open. I do not think mules could have been taken over the same spot in any August during the past twenty years without great difficulty. In that month the glacier is usually very bare of snow, and many crevasses are open. They are easily enough avoided by those on foot, but would prove very troublesome to mules.
A few days before we crossed the Breuiljoch in 1863, Mr. F. Morshead made a parallel pass to it. He crossed the ridge on the western side of the little peak, and followed a somewhat more difficult route than ours. In 1865 I wanted to use Mr. Morshead’s pass (see p. 235), but found that it was not possible to descend the Zermatt side; for, during the two years which had elapsed, the glacier had shrunk so much that it was completely severed from the summit of the pass, and we could not get down the rocks that were exposed.
Although the admirable situation of Zermatt has been known for, at least, forty years, it is only within the last twenty or so that it has become an approved Alpine centre. Thirty years ago the ThÉodule pass, the Weissthor, and the Col d’HÉrens, were, I believe, the only routes ever taken from Zermatt across the Pennine Alps. At the present time there are (inclusive of these passes and of the valley road) no less than twenty-six different ways in which a tourist may go from Zermatt. The summits of some of these cols are more than 14,000 feet above the level of the sea, and a good many of them cannot be recommended, either for ease, or as offering the shortest way from Zermatt to the valleys and villages to which they lead.
Zermatt itself is still only a village with 600 inhabitants (about forty of whom are guides), with picturesque chÂlet dwellings, black with age. The hotels, including the new inn on the Riffelberg, mostly belong to M. Alexandre Seiler, to whom the village and valley are very much indebted for their prosperity, and who is the best person to consult for information, or in all cases of difficulty.
“Un des faits les mieux constatÉs est que l’Érosion des glaciers se distingue de celle des eaux en ce que la premiÈre produit des roches convexes ou moutonnÉes, tandis que la seconde donne lieu À des concavitÉs.”—Prof. B. Studer, Origine des Lacs Suisses.
Professor Ruskin’s view of “the Cervin from the north-west” (Modern Painters, vol. iv.) is taken from the Stockje. The Col du Lion is a little depression on the ridge, close to the margin of the engraving, on the right-hand side; the third tent-platform was formed at the foot of the perpendicular cliff, on the ridge, exactly one-third way between the Col du Lion and the summit. The battlemented portion of the ridge, a little higher up, is called the “crÊte du coq”; and the nearly horizontal portion of the ridge above it is “the shoulder.”
On p. 7 it is stated that there was not a pass from Prerayen to Breil in 1860, and this is correct. On July 8, 1868, my enterprising guide, Jean-Antoine Carrel, started from Breil at 2 A.M. with a well-known comrade—J. Baptiste Bich, of Val Tournanche—to endeavour to make one. They went towards the glacier which descends from the Dent d’Erin to the south-east, and, on arriving at its base, ascended at first by some snow between it and the cliffs on its south, and afterwards took to the cliffs themselves. [This glacier they called the glacier of Mont Albert, after the local name of the peak which on Mr. Reilly’s map of the Valpelline is called “Les Jumeaux.” On Mr. Reilly’s map the glacier is called “Glacier d’Erin.”] They ascended the rocks to a considerable height, and then struck across the glacier, towards the north, to a small “rognon” (isolated patch of rocks) that is nearly in the centre of the glacier. They passed above this, and between it and the great sÉracs. Afterwards their route led them towards the Dent d’Erin, and they arrived at the base of its final peak by mounting a couloir (gully filled with snow), and the rocks at the head of the glacier. They gained the summit of their pass at 1 P.M., and, descending by the glacier of Zardesan, arrived at Prerayen at 6.30 P.M.
As their route joins that taken by Messrs. Hall, Grove, and Macdonald, on their ascent of the Dent d’Erin in 1863, it is evident that that mountain can be ascended from Breil. Carrel considers that the route taken by himself and his comrade Bich can be improved upon; and, if so, it is possible that the ascent of the Dent d’Erin can be made from Breil in less time than from Prerayen. Breil is very much to be preferred as a starting-point.
See p. 8. The height of this pass, according to the late Canon Carrel, is 10,335 feet. A portrait of this enthusiastic and worthy mountaineer is given upon p. 109.
This incident occurred close to the place represented in the engraving facing p. 78. The new, dry snow was very troublesome, and poured down like flour into the steps which were cut across the slopes. The front man accordingly moved ahead as far as possible, and anchored himself to rocks. A rope was sent across to him, was fixed at each end, and was held as a rail by the others as they crossed. We did not trust to this rope alone, but were also tied in the usual manner. The second rope was employed as an additional security against slips.
“There is, therefore, little hope of thus arriving at anything decisive as to the exact part which echoes take in the production of the rolling sound of thunder.” P. 165, English ed., translated by Col. Sabine: Longmans, 1855.
The same has seemed to me to be the case at all times when I have been close to the points of explosion. There has been always a distinct interval between the first explosion and the rolling sounds and secondary explosions which I have believed to be merely echoes; but it has never been possible (except in the above-mentioned case) to identify them as such.
Others have observed the same. “The geologist, Professor Theobald, of Chur, who was in the Solferino storm, between the Tschiertscher and Urden Alp, in the electric clouds, says that the peals were short, like cannon shots, but of a clearer, more cracking tone, and that the rolling of the thunder was only heard farther on.” Berlepsch’s Alps, English ed., p. 133.
Mr. J. Glaisher has frequently pointed out that all sounds in balloons at some distance from the earth are notable for their brevity. “It is one sound only; there is no reverberation, no reflection; and this is characteristic of all sounds in the balloon, one clear sound, continuing during its own vibrations, then gone in a moment.”—Good Words, 1863, p. 224.
I learn from Mr. Glaisher that the thunder-claps which have been heard by him during his “travels in the air” have been no exception to the general rule, and the absence of rolling has fortified his belief that the rolling sounds which accompany thunder are echoes, and echoes only.
The mists are extremely deceptive to those who are on the mountain itself. Sometimes they seem to be created at a considerable distance, as if the whole of the atmosphere of the neighbourhood was undergoing a change, when in reality they are being formed in immediate proximity to the mountain.
The Pointe des Ecrins is also seen from the top of the Col de Valloires, rising above the Col du Galibier. This is the lowest elevation from which I have seen the actual summit of the Ecrins.
It should be observed that these mountains were included in the territory recently ceded to France. The Sardinian map above referred to was the old official map. The French survey alluded to afterwards is the survey in continuation of the great French official map. Sheet No. 179 includes the Aiguilles d’Arve.
Whilst stopping in the hospice on the Col de Lautaret, in 1869, I was accosted by a middle-aged peasant, who asked if I would ride (for a consideration) in his cart towards BrianÇon. He was inquisitive as to my knowledge of his district, and at last asked, “Have you been at La Sausse?”“Yes.”“Well, then, I tell you, you saw there some of the first people in the world.”“Yes,” I said, “they were primitive, certainly.” But he was serious, and went on—“Yes, real brave people;” and, slapping his knee to give emphasis, “but that they are first-rate for minding the cows!”
After this he became communicative. “You thought, probably,” said he, “when I offered to take you down, that I was some poor ——, not worth a sou; but I will tell you, that was my mountain! my mountain! that you saw at La Sausse; they were my cows! a hundred of them altogether.”“Why, you are rich.”“Passably rich. I have another mountain on the Col du Galibier, and another at Villeneuve.” He (although a common peasant in outward appearance) confessed to being worth four thousand pounds.
The bracketed paragraphs in Chaps. VII. VIII. and IX. are extracted from the Journal of Mr. A. W. Moore.
It would be uninteresting and unprofitable to enter into a discussion of the confusion of these names at greater length. It is sufficient to say that they were confounded in a most perplexing manner by all the authorities we were able to consult, and also by the natives on the spot.
A great part of this morning’s route led over shales, which were loose and troublesome, and were probably a continuation of the well-known beds of the Col du Galibier and the Col de Lautaret.
The ridge called La Meije runs from E.S.E. to W.N.W., and is crowned by numerous aiguilles of tolerably equal elevation. The two highest are towards the eastern and western ends of the ridge, and are rather more than a mile apart. To the former the French surveyors assign a height of 12,730, and to the latter 13,080 feet. In our opinion the western aiguille can hardly be more than 200 feet higher than the eastern one. It is possible that its height may have diminished since it was measured.
In 1869 I carefully examined the eastern end of the ridge from the top of the Col de Lautaret, and saw that the summit at that end can be ascended by following a long glacier which descends from it towards the N.E. into the Valley of Arsine. The highest summit presents considerable difficulties.
Sheet 189 of the French map is extremely inaccurate in the neighbourhood of the Meije, and particularly so on its northern side. The ridges and glaciers which are laid down upon it can scarcely be identified on the spot.
The justness of the observation will be felt by those who knew La Grave in or before 1864. At that time the horses of the couriers who were passing from Grenoble to BrianÇon, and vice versa, were lodged immediately underneath the salle-À-manger and bedrooms, and a pungent, steamy odour rose from them through the cracks in the floor, and constantly pervaded the whole house. I am told that the inn has been considerably improved since 1864.
This wall may be described as an exaggerated Gemmi, as seen from Leukerbad. From the highest summit of La Meije right down to the Glacier des EtanÇons (a depth of about 3200 feet), the cliff is all but perpendicular, and appears to be completely unassailable. It is the most imposing thing of its kind that I have seen.
Since this chapter was first printed, the whole of the Aiguilles d’Arve have been ascended, and also the highest point of the Meije. For information upon these ascents the reader is referred to the pages of the Alpine Journal.
There are more than twenty peaks exceeding 12,000 feet, and thirty others exceeding 11,000 feet, within the district bounded by the rivers Romanche, Drac, and Durance.
See vol. i., p. 73 of Alpine Journal. We considered the height assigned to the final peak by Mr. Bonney was too small, and thought it should have been 200 feet more.
The ascent of the Pointe des Ecrins has been made several times since 1864. The second ascent was made by a French gentleman, named Vincent, with the Chamounix guides Jean Carrier and Alexandre Tournier. They followed our route, but reversed it; that is to say, ascended by the western and descended by the eastern arÊte.
The best course to adopt in future attacks on the mountain, would be to bring a ladder, or some other means of passing the bergschrund, in its centre, immediately under the summit. One could then proceed directly upwards, and so avoid the labour and difficulties which are inevitable upon any ascent by way of the arÊtes.
The path from Ville de Val Louise to Entraigues is good, and well shaded by luxuriant foliage. The valley (d’Entraigues) is narrow; bordered by fine cliffs; and closed at its western end by a noble block of mountains, which looks much higher than it is. The highest point (the Pic de Bonvoisin) is 11,500 feet. Potatoes, peas, and other vegetables, are grown at Entraigues (5284 feet), although the situation of the chalets is bleak, and cut off from the sun.
The Combe (or Vallon) de la Selle joins the main valley at Entraigues, and one can pass from the former by the little-known Col de Loup (immediately to the south of the Pic de Bonvoisin) into the Val Godemar. Two other passes, both of considerable height, lead from the head of the Vallon de la Selle into the valleys of ChampolÉon and ArgentiÈre.
The height of the Col de Sellar (or de Celar) is 10,073 feet (Forbes). I was told by peasants at Entraigues that sheep and goats can be easily taken across it.
See map on p. 146. It is perhaps just possible, although improbable, that these little glaciers were united together at the time that the survey was made. Since then the glaciers of DauphinÉ (as throughout the Alps generally) have shrunk very considerably. A notable diminution took place in their size in 1869, which was attributed by the natives to the very heavy rains of that year.
This drawing was made to illustrate the remarks which follow. It does not represent any particular couloir, though it would serve, tolerably well, as a portrait of the one which we ascended when crossing the Col de Pilatte.
The upper part of the southern side of the Col de Pilatte, and the small glaciers spoken of on p. 168, can be seen from the high road leading from BrianÇon to Mont Dauphin, between the 12th and 13th kilomÈtre stones (from BrianÇon).
Since the above paragraphs were first printed, there has been some improvement in DauphinÉ in respect to the inns; and there is now at La Ville de Val Louise a very decent little auberge called the HÔtel Pelvoux, kept by M. Gauthier.
Some of these heights have no business to figure in a list of the principal peaks of the chain, being nothing more than teeth or pinnacles in ridges, or portions of higher mountains. Such, for example, are the Aiguilles du GÉant, du Dru, and de Bionnassay.
The passage of the Col de Triolet from the Couvercle to PrÈ du Bar occupied 8½ hours of actual walking. If the pass had been taken in the contrary direction it would have consumed a much longer time. It gave a route shorter than any known at the time between Chamounix and the St. Bernard. As a pass I cannot conscientiously recommend it to any one (see Chap. XVII.), nor am I desirous to go again over the moraine on the left bank of the Glacier de Triolet, or the rocks of Mont Rouge.
I do not know the origin of the term moraine. De Saussure says (vol. i. p. 380, § 536), “the peasants of Chamounix call these heaps of dÉbris the moraine of the glacier.” It may be inferred from this that the term was a local one, peculiar to Chamounix.
It is not usual to find small moraines to large glaciers fed by many branches draining many different basins. That is, if the branches are draining basins which are separated by mountain ridges, or which, at least, have islands of rock protruding through the ice. The small moraines contributed by one affluent are balanced, probably, by great ones brought by another feeder.
“The stones that are found upon the upper extremities of glaciers are of the same nature as the mountains which rise above; but, as the ice carries them down into the valleys, they arrive between rocks of a totally different nature from their own.”—De Saussure, § 536.
The lower chalet de Lognan is 2½ hours’ walking from Chamounix. From thence to the summit of the Aiguille d’ArgentiÈre, and down to the village of the same name, occupied 12½ hours.
The Col de Zinal or Triftjoch, between the Trifthorn and the Ober Gabelhorn; and the Col Durand between the last-mentioned mountain and the Dent Blanche.
High above the Glacier de Moming at the foot of the CrÊte de Milton.
These snow-cornices are common on the crests of high mountain ridges, and it is always prudent (just before arriving upon the summit of a mountain or ridge) to sound with the alpenstock, that is to say, drive it in, to discover whether there is one or not. Men have often narrowly escaped losing their lives from neglecting this precaution. Several instances have been known of cornices having given way without a moment’s notice, and of life only having been saved through men being tied together.
These cornices are frequently rolled round in a volute, and sometimes take most extravagant forms. See page 32.
This opportunity has been taken to introduce to the reader some of the most expert amateur mountaineers of the time; and a few of the guides who have been, or will be, mentioned in the course of the book.
The late Peter Perrn is on the extreme right. Then come young Peter Taugwalder (upon the bench); and J. J. Maquignaz (leaning against the door-post). Franz Andermatten occupies the steps, and Ulrich Lauener towers in the background.
I engaged Croz for 1865 before I parted from him in 1864; but upon writing to him in the month of April to fix the dates of his engagement, I found that he had supposed he was free (in consequence of not having heard from me earlier), and had engaged himself to a Mr. B—— from the 27th of June. I endeavoured to hold him to his promise, but he considered himself unable to withdraw from his later obligation. His letters were honourable to him. The following extract from the last one he wrote to me is given as an interesting souvenir of a brave and upright man:—
It was an entry describing an ascent of the Grand Cornier (which we supposed had never been ascended) from the very direction which we had just pronounced to be hopeless! It was especially startling, because Franz Biener was spoken of in the account as having been concerned in the ascent. On examining Biener it was found that he had made the excursion, and had supposed at the time he was upon his summit that it was the Grand Cornier. He saw afterwards that they had only ascended one of the several points upon the ridge running northwards from the Grand Cornier—I believe, the Pigne de l’AllÉe (11,168 feet)!
I wrote in the AthenÆum, August 29, 1863, to the same effect. “This action of the frost does not cease in winter, inasmuch as it is impossible for the Matterhorn to be entirely covered by snow. Less precipitous mountains may be entirely covered up during winter, and if they do not then actually gain height, the wear and tear is, at least, suspended.... We arrive, therefore, at the conclusion that, although such snow-peaks as Mont Blanc may in the course of ages grow higher, the Matterhorn must decrease in height.” These remarks have received confirmation.
The men who were left by M. Dollfus-Ausset in his observatory upon the summit of the Col ThÉodule, during the winter of 1865, remarked that the snow was partially melted upon the rocks in their vicinity upon 19th, 20th, 21st, 22d, 23d, 26th, 27th December of that year, and upon the 22d of December they entered in their Journal, “Nous avons vu au Matterhorn que la neige se fondait sur roches et qu’il s’en Écoulait de l’eau.”—MatÉriaux pour l’Étude des Glaciers, vol. viii. part i. p. 246, 1868; and vol. viii. part ii. p. 77, 1869.
In each of the seven nights I passed upon the south-west ridge of the Matterhorn in 1861-3 (at heights varying from 11,844 to 12,992 feet above the level of the sea), the rocks fell incessantly in showers and avalanches. See p. 120.
Tonson’s Ed. of 1758. Bacon may have had this passage in mind when he wrote, “It must not be thought that heat generates motion, or motion heat (though in some respects this be true), but that the very essence of heat, or the substantial self of heat, is motion and nothing else.”—Novum Organum, book ii. Devey’s Translation.
Doubtless, at the sides of glacier beds, the range of temperature is greater. But there is evidence that the winter cold does not penetrate to the innermost recesses of glacier-beds in the fact that streams continue to flow underneath the ice all the year round, winter as well as summer, in the Alps and (I was informed in Greenland) in Greenland. Experimental proof can be readily obtained that even in midsummer the bottom temperature is close to 32° Faht.
The following details may interest mountain-climbers. Left Zinal (5505 feet) 2.5 A.M. Thence to plateau S.E. of summit of Grand Cornier, 5 h. 25 min. From the plateau to the summit of the mountain, 2½ hours. The last 300 feet of the ridge followed were exceedingly sharp and narrow, with a great cornice, from which huge icicles depended. We were obliged to go underneath the cornice, and to cut a way through the icicles. Descent from summit to plateau, 1 h. 40 min. Sharp snow-storm, with thunder. Plateau to summit of Col du Grand Cornier (rocks easy), 45 min. From the summit of the Col to the end of glacier leading to the west, 55 min. Thence to Abricolla (7959), 15 min.
The summit of the Dent Blanche is a ridge, perhaps one hundred yards in length. The highest point is usually at its north-eastern end. Several ascents besides those made by Mr. Kennedy and the author have been made in late years; but, as yet, no one seems to have discovered an easy route up the mountain.
The ascent of the Dent Blanche is the hardest that I have made. There was nothing upon it so difficult as the last 500 feet of the Pointe des Ecrins; but, on the other hand, there was hardly a step upon it which was positively easy. The whole of the face required actual climbing. There was, probably, very little difference in difficulty between the route we took in 1865, and that followed by Mr. Kennedy in 1862.
Weathered granite is an admirable rock to climb; its gritty texture giving excellent hold to the nails in one’s boots. But upon such metamorphic schists as compose the mass of the great peak of the Matterhorn, the texture of the rock itself is of little or no value.
I refer here only to that portion of the ridge which is between the Col du Lion and the Great Tower. The remarks would not apply to the rocks higher up (see p. 75); higher still the rocks are firm again; yet higher (upon the “Shoulder”) they are much disintegrated; and then, upon the final peak, they are again firm.
The ascent of the Grandes Jorasses was made to obtain a view of the upper part of the Aig. Verte, and upon that account the westernmost summit was selected in preference to the highest one. Both summits are shown upon the accompanying engraving. That on the right is (as it appears to be) the highest. That upon its left is the one which we ascended, and is about 100 feet lower than the other. A couple of days after our ascent, Henri Grati, Julien Grange, Jos. Mar. Perrod, Alexis Clusaz, and Daniel Gex (all of Courmayeur), followed our traces to the summit in order to learn the way. As far as my observation extends, such things are seldom done by money-grasping or spiritless guides, and I have much pleasure in being able to mention their names. The highest point (13,799) was ascended on June 29-30, 1868, by Mr. Horace Walker, with the guides Melchior Anderegg, J. Jaun, and Julien Grange.
The view of Mont Blanc from a gorge on the south of the Italian Val Ferret, mid-way between the villages of La Vachey and Praz Sec, and about 3000 feet above them, is, in my opinion, the finest which can be obtained of that mountain range anywhere upon the Italian side.
The next generation may witness its extinction. The portion of it seen from the village of ArgentiÈre was in 1869 at least one quarter less in width than it was ten years earlier.
This observation is not made without reason. I have seen the head of one tumble off at a slight tap, in consequence of its handle having been perforated by an ingenious but useless arrangement of nails.
I estimate its height at 1200 feet. The triangulation of Capt. Mieulet places the summit of the pass 11,624 feet above the sea. This, I think, is rather too high.
I heard lately of two well-known mountaineers who, under the influence of sudden alarm, swallowed their crystals. I am happy to say that they were able to cough them up again.
Hand specimens of the highest rocks of the Aiguille Verte cannot be distinguished from granite. The rock is almost identical in quality with that at the summit of Mont Dolent, and is probably a granitÖid gneiss.
The summit of the Aiguille Verte was a snowy dome, large enough for a quadrille. I was surprised to see the great height of Les Droites. Captain Mieulet places its summit at 13,222 feet, but I think it must be very slightly lower than the Verte itself.
It should be said that we received the most polite apologies for this affair from the chief of the gensdarmes, and an invitation to lodge a complaint against the ring-leaders. We accepted his apologies, and declined his invitation. Needless to add, Michel Croz took no part in the demonstration.
Below the second ice-fall the glacier is completely covered up with moraine matter, and if the left bank is followed, one is compelled either to traverse this howling waste or to lose much time upon the tedious and somewhat difficult rocks of Mont Rouge.
In glissading an erect position should be maintained, and the point of the alpenstock allowed to trail over the snow. If it is necessary to stop, or to slacken speed, the point is pressed against the slope, as shown in the illustration.
Comparison of the Col de Triolet with the Col de TalÈfre will show what a great difference in ease there may be between tracks which are nearly identical. For a distance of several miles these routes are scarcely more than half-a-mile apart. Nearly every step of the former is difficult, whilst the latter has no difficulty whatever. The route we adopted over the Col de TalÈfre may perhaps be improved. It may be possible to go directly from the head of the Glacier de Triolet to its right bank, and, if so, at least thirty minutes might be saved.
The following is a list of the principal of the passes across the main ridge of the range of Mont Blanc, with the years in which the first passages were effected, as far as I know them:—1. Col de TrÉlatÊte (1864), between Aig. du Glacier and Aig. de TrÉlatÊte. 2. Col de Miage, between Aig. de Miage and Aig. de Bionnassay. 3. Col du DÔme (1865), over the DÔme du GoÛter. 4. Col du Mont Blanc (1868), over Mont Blanc. 5. Col de la Brenva (1865), between Mont Blanc and Mont Maudit. 6. Col de la Tour Ronde (1867), over la Tour Ronde. 7. Col du GÉant, between la Tour Ronde and Aigs. MarbrÉes. 8. Col des Grandes Jorasses (1873), between the Grandes and Petites Jorasses. 9. Col de Leschaux (1877), between the Aig. de l’Eboulement and the Aig. de Leschaux. 10. Col Pierre Joseph (1866), over Aig. de l’Eboulement. 11. Col de TalÈfre (1865), between Aigs. TalÈfre and Triolet. 12. Col de Triolet (1864), between Aigs. TalÈfre and Triolet. 13. Col Dolent (1865), between Aig. de Triolet and Mont Dolent. 14. Col d’ArgentiÈre (1861), between Mont Dolent and la Tour Noire. 15. Col de la Tour Noire (1863), between the Tour Noire and the Aig. d’ArgentiÈre. 16. Col du Chardonnet (1863), between Aigs. d’ArgentiÈre and Chardonnet. 17. Col du Tour, between Aigs. du Chardonnet and Tour.
After crossing the glacier de Breney, we ascended by some dÉbris, and then by some cliffy ground, to the glacier which surrounds the peak upon the south; bore to the left (that is to the west) and went up the edge of the glacier; and lastly took to the arÊte of the ridge which descends towards the south-west, and followed it to the summit (12,727).
For example, when the leader suspects crevasses, and sounds for them, in the manner shown in the engraving, he usually loses half a step or more. The second man should take a turn of the rope around his hand to draw it back in case the leader goes through.
When several persons are descending such places, it is evident that the last man cannot derive any assistance from the rope, and so might as well be untied. Partly upon this account, it is usual to place one of the strongest and steadiest men last. Now, although this cannot be termed a senseless precaution, it is obvious that it is a perfectly useless one, if it is true that a single slip would upset the entire party. The best plan I know is that which we adopted on the descent of the Col Dolent, namely, to let one man go in advance until he reaches some secure point. This one then detaches himself, the rope is drawn up, and another man is sent down to join him, and so on until the last. The last man still occupies the most difficult post, and should be the steadiest man; but he is not exposed to any risk from his comrades slipping, and they, of course, draw in the rope as he descends, so that his position is less hazardous than if he were to come down quite by himself.
If you are out upon an excursion, and find the work becoming so arduous that you have great difficulty in maintaining your balance, you should at once retire, and not imperil the lives of others. I am well aware that the withdrawal of one person for such reasons would usually necessitate the retreat of a second, and that expeditions would be often cut short if this were to happen. With the fear of this before their eyes, I believe that many amateurs continue to go on, albeit well convinced that they ought not. They do not wish to stop the sport of their comrades; but they frequently suffer mental tortures in consequence, which most emphatically do not assist their stability, and are likely to lead to something even more disagreeable than the abandonment of the excursion. The moral is, take an adequate number of guides.
The two young Taugwalders were taken as porters, by desire of their father, and carried provisions amply sufficient for three days, in case the ascent should prove more troublesome than we anticipated.
I remember speaking about pedestrianism to a well-known mountaineer some years ago, and venturing to remark that a man who averaged thirty miles a-day might be considered a good walker. “A fair walker,” he said, “a fair walker.”“What then would you consider good walking?”“Well,” he replied, “I will tell you. Some time back a friend and I agreed to go to Switzerland, but a short time afterwards he wrote to say he ought to let me know that a young and delicate lad was going with him who would not be equal to great things, in fact, he would not be able to do more than fifty miles a-day!”“What became of the young and delicate lad?”“He lives.”“And who was your extraordinary friend?”“Charles Hudson.” I have every reason to believe that the gentlemen referred to were equal to walking more than fifty miles a-day, but they were exceptional, not good pedestrians.
Charles Hudson, Vicar of Skillington in Lincolnshire, was considered by the mountaineering fraternity to be the best amateur of his time. He was the organiser and leader of the party of Englishmen who ascended Mont Blanc by the Aig. du GoÛter, and descended by the Grands Mulets route, without guides, in 1855. His long practice made him surefooted, and in that respect he was not greatly inferior to a born mountaineer. I remember him as a well-made man of middle height and age, neither stout nor thin, with face pleasant—though grave, and with quiet unassuming manners. Although an athletic man, he would have been overlooked in a crowd; and although he had done the greatest mountaineering feats which have been done, he was the last man to speak of his own doings. His friend Mr. Hadow was a young man of nineteen, who had the looks and manners of a greater age. He was a rapid walker, but 1865 was his first season in the Alps. Lord Francis Douglas was about the same age as Mr. Hadow. He had had the advantage of several seasons in the Alps. He was nimble as a deer, and was becoming an expert mountaineer. Just before our meeting he had ascended the Ober Gabelhorn (with old Peter Taugwalder and Jos. Viennin), and this gave me a high opinion of his powers; for I had examined that mountain all round, a few weeks before, and had declined its ascent on account of its apparent difficulty.
My personal acquaintance with Mr. Hudson was very slight—still I should have been content to have placed myself under his orders if he had chosen to claim the position to which he was entitled. Those who knew him will not be surprised to learn that, so far from doing this, he lost no opportunity of consulting the wishes and opinions of those around him. We deliberated together whenever there was occasion, and our authority was recognised by the others. Whatever responsibility there was devolved upon us. I recollect with satisfaction that there was no difference of opinion between us as to what should be done, and that the most perfect harmony existed between all of us so long as we were together.
Arrived at the chapel 7.30 A.M.; left it, 8.20; halted to examine route 9.30; started again 10.25, and arrived at 11.20 at the cairn made by Mr. Kennedy in 1862 (see p. 59), marked 10,820 feet upon the map. Stopped 10 min. here. From the HÖrnli to this point we kept, when possible, to the crest of the ridge. The greater part of the way was excessively easy, though there were a few places where the axe had to be used.
Thus far the guides did not once go to the front. Hudson or I led, and when any cutting was required we did it ourselves. This was done to spare the guides, and to show them that we were thoroughly in earnest. The spot at which we camped was four hours’ walking from Zermatt, and is marked upon the map—CAMP (1865). It was just upon a level with the Furggengrat, and its position is indicated upon the engraving facing p. 227 by a little circular white spot, in a line with the word CAMP.
See remarks on arÊtes and faces on p. 206. There is very little to choose between in the arÊtes leading from the summit towards the HÖrnli (N.E. ridge) and towards the Col du Lion (S.W. ridge). Both are jagged, serrated ridges, which any experienced climber would willingly avoid if he could find another route. On the northern (Zermatt) side the eastern face affords another route, or any number of routes, since there is hardly a part of it which cannot be traversed! On the southern (Breil) side the ridge alone, generally speaking, can be followed; and when it becomes impracticable, and the climber is forced to bear down to the right or to the left, the work is of the most difficult character.
Very few stones fell during the two days I was on the mountain, and none came near us. Others who have followed the same route have not been so fortunate; they may not, perhaps, have taken the same precautions. It is a noteworthy fact, that the lateral moraine of the left bank of the Furggengletscher is scarcely larger than that of the right bank, although the former receives all the dÉbris that falls from the 4000 feet of cliffs which form the eastern side of the Matterhorn, whilst the latter is fed by perfectly insignificant slopes. Neither of these moraines is large. This is strong evidence that stones do not fall to any great extent from the eastern face. The inward dip of the beds retains the detritus in place. Hence the eastern face appears, when one is upon it, to be undergoing more rapid disintegration than the other sides: in reality, the mantle of ruin spares the mountain from farther waste. Upon the southern side, rocks fall as they are rent off; “each day’s work is cleared away” every day; and hence the faces and ridges are left naked, and are exposed to fresh attacks.
The highest points are towards the two ends. In 1865 the northern end was slightly higher than the southern one. In bygone years Carrel and I often suggested to each other that we might one day arrive upon the top, and find ourselves cut off from the very highest point by a notch in the summit-ridge which is seen from the Theodule and from Breil (marked D on the outline on p. 85). This notch is very conspicuous from below, but when we were upon the summit it was hardly noticed, and it could be passed without the least difficulty.
I have learnt since from J.-A. Carrel that they heard our first cries. They were then upon the south-west ridge, close to the “Cravate,” and twelve hundred and fifty feet below us; or, as the crow flies, at a distance of about one-third of a mile.
At our departure the men were confident that the ascent would be made, and took one of the poles out of the tent. I protested that it was tempting Providence; they took the pole, nevertheless.
Signor Giordano was naturally disappointed at the result, and wished the men to start again. They all refused to do so, with the exception of Jean-Antoine. Upon the 16th of July he set out again with three others, and upon the 17th gained the summit by passing (at first) up the south-west ridge, and (afterwards) by turning over to the Z’Mutt, or north-western side. On the 18th he returned to Breil.
Whilst we were upon the southern end of the summit-ridge, we paid some attention to the portion of the mountain which intervened between ourselves and the Italian guides. It seemed as if there would not be the least chance for them if they should attempt to storm the final peak directly from the end of the “shoulder.” In that direction cliffs fell sheer down from the summit, and we were unable to see beyond a certain distance. There remained the route about which Carrel and I had often talked, namely to ascend directly at first from the end of the “shoulder,” and afterwards to swerve to the left—that is, to the Z’Mutt side—and to complete the ascent from the north-west. When we were upon the summit we laughed at this idea. The part of the mountain that I have described upon p. 278, was not easy, although its inclination was moderate. If that slope were made only ten degrees steeper, its difficulty would be enormously increased. To double its inclination would be to make it impracticable. The slope at the southern end of the summit-ridge, falling towards the north-west, was much steeper than that over which we passed, and we ridiculed the idea that any person should attempt to ascend in that direction, when the northern route was so easy. Nevertheless, the summit was reached by that route by the undaunted Carrel. From knowing the final slope over which he passed, and from the account of Mr. F. C. Grove—who is the only traveller by whom it has been traversed—I do not hesitate to term the ascent of Carrel and Bich in 1865 the most desperate piece of mountain-scrambling upon record. In 1869 I asked Carrel if he had ever done anything more difficult. His reply was, “Man cannot do anything much more difficult than that!” See Appendix D.
The summit-ridge was much shattered, although not so extensively as the south-west and north-east ridges. The highest rock, in 1865, was a block of micaschist, and the fragment I broke off it not only possesses, in a remarkable degree, the character of the peak, but mimics, in an astonishing manner, the details of its form. (See illustration on page 284.)
The substance of Chapter XX. appeared in a letter in the Times, August 8, 1865. A few paragraphs have now been added, and a few corrections have been made. The former will help to make clear that which was obscure in the original account, and the latter are, mostly, unimportant.
Not at all an unusual proceeding, even between born mountaineers. I wish to convey the impression that Croz was using all pains, rather than to indicate extreme inability on the part of Mr. Hadow. The insertion of the word “absolutely” makes the passage, perhaps, rather ambiguous. I retain it now, in order to offer the above explanation.
At the moment of the accident, Croz, Hadow, and Hudson, were all close together. Between Hudson and Lord F. Douglas the rope was all but taut, and the same between all the others, who were above. Croz was standing by the side of a rock which afforded good hold, and if he had been aware, or had suspected, that anything was about to occur, he might and would have gripped it, and would have prevented any mischief. He was taken totally by surprise. Mr. Hadow slipped off his feet on to his back, his feet struck Croz in the small of the back, and knocked him right over, head first. Croz’s axe was out of his reach, yet without it he managed to get his head uppermost before he disappeared from our sight. If it had been in his hand I have no doubt that he would have stopped himself and Mr. Hadow.
Mr. Hadow, at the moment of his slip, was not occupying a bad position. He could have moved either up or down, and could touch with his hand the rock of which I have spoken. Hudson was not so well placed, but he had liberty of motion. The rope was not taut from him to Hadow, and the two men fell ten or twelve feet before the jerk came upon him. Lord F. Douglas was not favourably placed, and could neither move up nor down. Old Peter was firmly planted, and stood just beneath a large rock which he hugged with both arms. I enter into these details to make it more apparent that the position occupied by the party at the moment of the accident was not by any means excessively trying. We were compelled to pass over the exact spot where the slip occurred, and we found—even with shaken nerves—that it was not a difficult place to pass. I have described the slope generally as difficult, and it is so undoubtedly to most persons; but it must be distinctly understood that Mr. Hadow slipped at an easy part.
I paid very little attention to this remarkable phenomenon, and was glad when it disappeared, as it distracted our attention. Under ordinary circumstances I should have felt vexed afterwards at not having observed with greater precision an occurrence so rare and so wonderful. I can add very little about it to that which is said above. The sun was directly at our backs; that is to say, the fog-bow was opposite to the sun. The time was 6.30 P.M. The forms were at once tender and sharp; neutral in tone; were developed gradually, and disappeared suddenly. The mists were light (that is, not dense), and were dissipated in the course of the evening.
It has been suggested that the crosses are incorrectly figured in the accompanying view, and that they were probably formed by the intersection of other circles or ellipses, as shown in the annexed diagram. I think this suggestion is very likely correct; but I have preferred to follow my original memorandum.
Illustration: Diagram of fog-bow
In Parry’s Narrative of an Attempt to reach the North Pole, 4to, 1828, there is, at pp. 99-100, an account of the occurrence of a phenomenon analogous to the above-mentioned one. “At half-past five P.M. we witnessed a very beautiful natural phenomenon. A broad white fog-bow first appeared opposite to the sun, as was very commonly the case,” etc. I follow Parry in using the term fog-bow.
It may be observed that, upon the descent of the Italian guides (whose expedition is noticed upon p. 282, and again in the Appendix), upon July 17, 1865, the phenomenon commonly termed the Brocken was observed. The following is the account given by the AbbÉ AmÉ Gorret in the Feuille d’Aoste, October 31, 1865:—“Nous Étions sur l’Épaule (the ‘shoulder’) quand nous remarquÂmes un phÉnomÈne qui nous fit plaisir; le nuage Était trÈs-dense du cÔtÉ de Valtornanche, c’Était serein en Suisse; nous nous vÎmes au milieu d’un cercle aux couleurs de l’arc-en-ciel; ce mirage nous formait À tous une couronne au milieu de laquelle nous voyions notre ombre.” This occurred at about 6.30 to 7 P.M., and the Italians in question were at about the same height as ourselves—namely, 14,000 feet.
A pair of gloves, a belt, and boot that had belonged to him, were found. This, somehow, became publicly known, and gave rise to wild notions, which would not have been entertained had it been also known that the whole of the boots of those who had fallen were off, and were lying upon the snow near the bodies.
I was one hundred feet or more from the others whilst they were being tied up, and am unable to throw any light on the matter. Croz and old Peter no doubt tied up the others.
This is not the only occasion upon which M. Clemenz (who presided over the inquiry) has failed to give up answers that he has promised. It is greatly to be regretted that he does not feel that the suppression of the truth is equally against the interests of travellers and of the guides. If the men are untrustworthy, the public should be warned of the fact; but if they are blameless, why allow them to remain under unmerited suspicion?
Old Peter Taugwalder is a man who is labouring under an unjust accusation. Notwithstanding repeated denials, even his comrades and neighbours at Zermatt persist in asserting or insinuating that he cut the rope which led from him to Lord F. Douglas. In regard to this infamous charge, I say that he could not do so at the moment of the slip, and that the end of the rope in my possession shows that he did not do so beforehand. There remains, however, the suspicious fact that the rope which broke was the thinnest and weakest one that we had. It is suspicious, because it is unlikely that any of the four men in front would have selected an old and weak rope when there was abundance of new, and much stronger, rope to spare; and, on the other hand, because if Taugwalder thought that an accident was likely to happen, it was to his interest to have the weaker rope where it was placed.
I should rejoice to learn that his answers to the questions which were put to him were satisfactory. Not only was his act at the critical moment wonderful as a feat of strength, but it was admirable in its performance at the right time. I am told that he is now nearly incapable for work—not absolutely mad, but with intellect gone and almost crazy; which is not to be wondered at, whether we regard him as a man who contemplated a scoundrelly meanness, or as an injured man suffering under an unjust accusation.
In respect to young Peter, it is not possible to speak in the same manner. The odious idea that he propounded (which I believe emanated from him) he has endeavoured to trade upon, in spite of the fact that his father was paid (for both) in the presence of witnesses. Whatever may be his abilities as a guide, he is not one to whom I would ever trust my life, or afford any countenance.
They followed the route laid down upon the map, and on their descent were in great peril from the fall of a sÉrac. The character of the work they undertook may be gathered from a reference to p. 100.
The following details are taken from the account of the AbbÉ AmÉ Gorret (published in the Feuille d’Aoste, Oct. 1865), who was at Breil when the men returned.
These terms, as well as the others, Great Staircase, Col du Lion, TÊte du Lion, Chimney, and so forth, were applied by Carrel and myself to the various points, in consequence of real or supposed resemblances in the rocks to other things. A few of the terms originated with the Author, but they are chiefly due to the inventive genius of J.-A. Carrel.
Joseph and J.-Pierre Maquignaz alone ascended; the others had had enough and returned. It should be observed that ropes had been fixed, by J.-A. Carrel and others, over all the difficult parts of the mountain as high as the shoulder, before the advent of these persons. This explains the facility with which they moved over ground which had been found very trying in earlier times. The young woman declared that the ascent (as far as she went) was a trifle, or used words to that effect; if she had tried to get to the same height before 1862, she would probably have been of a different opinion.
Cette roche granitoÏde paraÎt surtout À la base ouest du pic sous le col du Lion, tandis qu’elle ne paraÎt pas du tout sur le flanc est, oÙ elle paraÎt passer au gneiss talqueux.
En plusieurs localitÉs des environs, cette zone calcarifÈre prÉsente des bancs et des lentilles de dolomie, de cargueule, de gypse et de quartzite.
The illustrations have been placed between paragraphs in the electronic text. This may result in a changed page number in comparison to the List of Illustrations.
Variations in accentuation (“chalet”/“chÂlet”), hyphenation (e.g. “commonplace”/“common-place”, “midday”/“mid-day”) and spelling (“Ortler”/“Orteler”) have not been changed.
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