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.