Presently the last of our stock of candles had fallen out of the rickety lantern, and we went forward in the darkness, lighted by the occasional flash of an electric torch. This proved troublesome, and was retarding our progress so much that we were moved to borrow a lantern from a party of three Swiss boys who, like us, were bound for the Italian hut.
Thenceforward we climbed comfortably and without haste, until at 3.30 a.m. we arrived at the ruins of the old Matterhorn hut which, built in 1867, two years after the first ill-fated ascent, had afforded welcome shelter to many of the early conquerors of the great mountain. Situated in an exposed position on a small ledge at the foot of a great vertical bluff, it is not surprising that its present state is one of roofless demolition. We rested here in the gloom for five minutes, then moved off once more.
The next step was to be the Solvay Refuge. This information was emphatically impressed upon me; it meant, in reality, that I was forbidden to linger and watch the dawn come up and chase the night from sky and hill. In due course we reached the place that is now known as Moseley’s slab. The historic interest of the Matterhorn is enhanced beyond that of all other mountains by the fact that so many of its different features bear the names of the men associated with them; a story seems to hang to every stone. At the slab, a steep, smooth pitch where hands and feet and additional effort are all required, the lantern was extinguished; and I saw that the rock around me and at my feet was losing its bluish-black tint. But I dared not divert my attention from the work in hand. To gain the first foothold on the slab, I had to have a little leverage from below and a pull from above; my limbs and climbing experience were alike too short to enable me to reach it unaided. With the exception of this and one other occasion on the ascent, I managed by myself, if the second person on a rope can ever truly be said to do so. My previous reading of Alpine literature had led me to conclude that, in any mountaineering venture, the man to whom admiration is due is he who is first on the ascent and last in the descent. On him falls the real work and responsibility; the others are merely backers-up, adequate or inadequate as the case may be. While the party is on the move, the leader must never relax even for a fraction of a second. He must never slip, must always be sure of himself and never lose his presence of mind. He brings the others up to him or lets them down while he holds them securely from above. When, therefore, I remark that I “managed by myself” I mean that, well nursed from above on a strong leading string, I contrived to lift my feet into the holds that were obligingly waiting for them. I had also learnt on the way up to support and trust myself to my arms alone, and swing myself up on them. An improvement this on my Riffelhorn behaviour. I could not then bring myself to believe that I could hang on my arms without their breaking or being pulled out of their sockets. What had actually occurred, of course, was that I had discovered the use and strength of fingers.
At about half-past five we reached the Solvay hut. To describe sunrise on the mountains is a task that must be left to the brush or pen of the artist. The ordinary mortal must be content to worship before a sight than which “earth has not anything to show more fair.” Every mountain-top was on fire, and I chafed at the thought that had we left earlier, or had I been quicker, we might now have been on the summit of the Matterhorn knowing what it was to be bathed in the clear, transparent, rosy glow that, deepening, crept all too swiftly downwards and disappeared. Half an hour was spent in the refuge, resting and eating a frugal breakfast; the real banqueting ground was to be the summit. Just as several others parties were arriving, we resumed our climb. The ridge proved rather unstable, and great care had to be taken not to loosen stones. Keeping close together and all moving at once, we presently reached the Shoulder. Here begin the fixed ropes which render the climb too easy to the expert but are so useful and comforting to the tyro. Then came a short stretch of extremely sharp ridge with an appalling precipice falling away on the right. We were now moving one at a time, and as I waited while the leader went out the full length of the rope to find good, firm standing ground, it seemed to me that I simply could not face the teeth in front, to say nothing of the giddy drop. However, a party was following close behind us, and in that party was one of my own sex.
Now to betray “cold feet” in the presence of another woman is out of the question. So I swallowed hard, sailed in with an affectation of nonchalance and conquered. Indeed, I believe that the main cause of my unwonted display of prowess, or rather the absence of my wonted display of clumsiness, throughout the ascent of the Swiss ridge was the thought that the girl behind might be watching. It is true that I once looked back, and found that she was completely occupied with her own doings. She seemed even more raw at the game than myself. But that was no guarantee that she wouldn’t find time to criticise.
Just below the last gentle slope leading to the Swiss summit is a rather exposed bulge. There was no rope, though I have been told that there is usually one at this spot. I was too short to reach the handholds and pull myself up so that I could use my knee, and, disappointing though it was, I was forced to accept Padrun’s proffered shoulder as a foothold. Thenceforward to the top was a mere walk. The Swiss summit being too small to meet with our requirements, we took a quick, dizzy peep over the top into a new country and crossed over to the Italian summit. Here we found the three Swiss boys who were to follow us on the descent. We returned their lantern with many thanks, and seated ourselves on a fairly commodious platform lower down.
The Swiss summit of the Matterhorn from the Italian summit.
The metal cross in the foreground was erected by a party of enthusiastic Italian mountaineers headed by a priest.