Footnotes
[1.] In the lower diagram the tins are shown as they appear when packed for travelling. I generally carry them at the top of a knapsack, outside. [2.] I extract from No. 63 of the Alpine Journal the following note by Gustav de Veh, a retired Russian officer, upon the prevention of snow-blindness. “We were on the march home along the mountain plains, when, dazzled by the intense sun-rays reflected by the endless snow-fields we were marching along, my eyelids lost all power to open; I felt my elbow touched, and, looking through my fingers, I beheld one of our friendly highlanders preparing a kind of black paste by mixing gunpowder with snow. The General told me to let him do what he wanted. The Circassian applied the black stuff under my eyes, on my cheeks, and to the sides of my nose. To my astonishment I could then open my eyes, and felt no more difficulty to see plainly and clearly everything. I have tried that experiment many times since, and it never failed to relieve me, although I used common Indian-ink and black water-colour, instead of the above-mentioned paste.” [3.] I understand that scarcely any nails wore found in the boots of Dr. Moseley, who lost his life recently on the Matterhorn, and this fact sufficiently accounts for the accident. [4.] The author of Travels in Alaska. [5.] The Riffel hotel (the starting-point for the ascent of Monte Rosa), a deservedly popular inn, leased to Monsieur Seiler, the hotel proprietor of Zermatt, is placed at a height of 3100 feet above that village (8400 above the sea), and commands a superb panoramic view. The house has continually grown, and it can now accommodate a large number of persons. In 1879, it was connected by telegraph with the rest of Switzerland. [6.] The highest of the Mischabelhörner. [7.] The temperature at the St. Bernard in the winter is frequently 40° Fahr. below freezing-point. January is their coldest month. See Dollfus-Ausset’s Matériaux pour l’étude des Glaciers, vols. vi. and vii. [8.] There was not a pass between Prerayen and Breil. See [note to p. 105]. [9.] This pass is called usually the Va Cornère. It is also known as the Gra Cornère; which is, I believe, patois for Grand Cornier. It is mentioned in the first volume of the second series of Peaks, Passes, and Glaciers, and in Chapters [V.] and [XVIII.] of this volume. [10.] I had been sent to the Val Louise to illustrate this ascent. [11.] Since that time a decent house has been built on the summit of this pass. The old vaulted hospice was erected for the benefit of the pilgrims who formerly crossed the pass en route for Rome.—Joanne’s Itinéraire du Dauphiné. [12.] See the [Map in Chap. VIII]. [13.] The depth of the valleys is so great that the sun not only is not seen for more than a few hours per day during the greatest portion of the year, but in some places—at Villard d’Arène and at Andrieux for example—it is not seen at all for one hundred days.—Lodoucette’s Hautes-Alpes, p. 599. [14.] Sometimes called the Aiguille du Midi de la Grave, or the Aiguille de la Medje. [15.] The maps of the Dauphiné Alps to Ball’s Guide to the Western Alps, and to Joanne’s Itinéraire du Dauphiné, must be excepted. These maps are, however, on too small a scale for travelling purposes. [16.]
“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.
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.
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 Grœnlandica (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. Grœnlandica, 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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 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 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.
For our route from Zinal to Zermatt, see the [Map of the Valley of Zermatt].
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:—
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.
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.
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.
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].
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.
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.
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.