[14] Mr. J. Glaislier 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. Glaislier 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 wind during all this time seemed to blow tolerably consistently from the east. It smote the tent so vehemently (notwithstanding it was partly protected by rocks) that we had grave fears our refuge might be blown away bodily, with ourselves inside; so, during some of the lulls, we issued out and built a wall to windward. At half-past three the wind changed to the north-west, and the clouds vanished. We immediately took the opportunity to send down one of the porters (under protection of some of the others a little beyond the Col du Lion), as the tent would accommodate only five persons. From this time to sunset the weather was variable. It was sometimes blowing and snowing hard, and sometimes a dead calm. The bad weather was evidently confined to the Mont Cervin, for when the clouds lifted we could see everything that could be seen from our gîte. Monte Viso, a hundred miles off, was clear, and the sun set gorgeously behind the range of Mont Blanc. We passed the night comfortably, even luxuriously, in our blanket-bags, but there was little chance of sleeping, between the noise of the wind, of the thunder and of the falling rocks. I forgave the thunder for the sake of the lightning. A more splendid spectacle than its illumination of the Matterhorn crags I do not expect to see.
We turned out at 3.30 A.M.on the 11th, and were dismayed to find that it still continued to snow. At 9 A.M. the snow ceased to fall, and the sun showed itself feebly, so we packed up our baggage and set out to try to get upon “the shoulder.” We struggled upward until eleven o’clock, and then it commenced to snow again. We held a council: the opinions expressed at it were unanimous against advancing, and I decided to retreat; for we had risen less than three hundred feet in the past two hours, and had not even arrived at the rope which Tyndall’s party left behind attached to the rocks, in 1862. At the same rate of progression it would have taken us from four to five hours to get upon “the shoulder.” Not one of us cared to attempt to do so under the existing circumstances; for, besides having to move our own weight, which was sufficiently troublesome at this part of the ridge, we had to transport much heavy baggage, tent, blankets, provisions, ladder and four hundred and fifty feet of rope, besides many other smaller matters. These, however, were not the most serious considerations. Supposing that we got upon “the shoulder,” we might find ourselves detained there several days, unable either to go up or down.[[15]] I could not risk any such detention, being under obligations to appear in London at the end of the week. We got to Breuil in the course of the afternoon: it was quite fine there, and the tenants of the inn received our statements with evident skepticism. They were astonished to learn that we had been exposed to a snow-storm of twenty-six hours’ duration. “Why,” said Favre, the innkeeper, “we have had no snow: it has been fine all the time you have been absent, and there has been only that small cloud upon the mountain.” Ah! that small cloud! None except those who have had experience of it can tell what a formidable obstacle it is.
[15] Since then (on at least one occasion), several persons have found themselves in this predicament for five or six consecutive days!
MONSIEUR FAVRE.
Why is it that the Matterhorn is subject to these abominable variations of weather? The ready answer is, “Oh, the mountain is so isolated, it attracts the clouds.” This is not a sufficient answer. Although the mountain is isolated, it is not so much more isolated than the neighboring peaks that it should gather clouds when none of the others do so. It will not at all account for the cloud to which I refer, which is not formed by an aggregation of smaller, stray clouds drawn together from a distance (as scum collects round a log in the water), but is created against the mountain itself, and springs into existence where no clouds were seen before. It is formed and hangs chiefly against the southern sides, and particularly against the south-eastern side. It frequently does not envelop the summit, and rarely extends down to the Glacier du Lion and to the Glacier du Mont Cervin below. It forms in the finest weather—on cloudless and windless days.
I conceive that we should look to differences of temperature rather than to the height or isolation of the mountain for an explanation. I am inclined to attribute the disturbances which occur in the atmosphere of the southern sides of the Matterhorn on fine days principally to the fact that the mountain is a rock mountain—that it receives a great amount of heat, and is not only warmer itself, but is surrounded by an atmosphere of a higher temperature, than such peaks as the Weisshorn and the Lyskamm, which are eminently snow mountains.
In certain states of the atmosphere its temperature may be tolerably uniform over wide areas and to great elevations. I have known the thermometer to show seventy degrees in the shade at the top of an Alpine peak more than thirteen thousand feet high, and but a very few degrees higher six or seven thousand feet lower. At other times there will be a difference of forty or fifty degrees (Fahrenheit) between two stations, the higher not more than six or seven thousand feet above the lower.