In all mountainous regions the permanent habitations of men cease at a limit far below the most elevated points reached by the mountain-climber. St. Veran and Gargl, the highest villages of France and Germany, are situated at the respective heights of 6,591 and 6,197 feet; but the Hospice of St. Bernard, in Switzerland, built centuries ago to shelter travellers when benumbed with the cold, is much more elevated, its height being 8,110 feet above sea-level. The most elevated cluster of houses in the world is the convent of Hanle, inhabited by twenty Thibetan priests; its height is 14,976 feet. None of the villages of the Andes, except perhaps that of Santa Anna, in Bolivia, have been built at so great a height.
Travellers who venture to ascend lofty mountains not only have to suffer all the rigours of cold and run the risk of being frozen on their route, but they may also experience painful sensations owing to the rarefaction of the air. It would naturally be supposed that at an elevation at which the pressure of the atmosphere is reduced to one half, or even to one fourth that of the plains below, a certain uneasiness should be caused by the change, the more so since other conditions, such as warmth and moisture, are different. Undaunted climbers, like Professor Tyndall, who have never felt the effect of this "mountain-sickness" (mal de montagne), deny that the sensations proceed from anything else than mere fatigue. In the Himalayas, the traveller does not begin to suffer from the attacks of this ailment until he has reached a height of 16,500 feet; while on the Andes a large number of persons are affected by it at an altitude of 10,700 feet. In the South American mountains, the symptoms are much more serious: to the fatigue, head-ache, and want of breath are added giddiness, sometimes fainting-fits, and bleeding from lips, gums, and eyelids. The aeronaut, however, who is spared all the fatigue of climbing, rarely suffers any inconvenience except from cold, at such elevations. But on rising to greater heights, 30,000 or 40,000 feet, the malady shows itself; and if the balloon continued to rise, the aerial voyager would infallibly perish.
Professor Bonney says:—
"I have occasionally seen persons singularly affected on high mountains; and as the barometer stands at about sixteen inches on Mont Blanc, and at thirty at sea-level, one would expect this great difference to be felt. Still, I do not think it easy to separate the inconveniences due to atmosphere from those caused by unwonted fatigue, and am inclined to attribute most of them to the latter."
But the fact that the aeronaut suffers seems conclusive.
The violent storms which break upon mountain districts often cause floods of considerable magnitude, such as may be compared with the memorable bursting of the Holmfirth reservoir. Hardly a year passes without considerable damage being done: bridges are swept away; roads are buried under torrents of mud, and fields overwhelmed with débris. In August of the year 1860 a severe storm was witnessed by visitors staying at Zermatt. It began with a thunder-storm; and rain fell for about thirty-six hours, after which, as may be supposed, the torrents were swollen far beyond their usual size. Lower down in the valleys much harm was done, but there one bridge only was swept away. It was, however, an awful sight to see the Visp roaring under one of the bridges that remained, and to hear the heavy thuds of the boulders that were being hurried on and dashed against one another by the torrent.
In September, 1556, the town of Locarno, in the Canton Ticino, was visited by a destructive storm and flood. The day began by several shocks of earthquake, followed, about five o'clock, by a terrific gale from the south. Part of the old castle was blown down; the doors of St. Victor's Church were burst open by a blast while the priest was at the altar; and everything within was overturned. At midday the clouds were so thick that it was almost as dark as night. A violent thunder-storm and torrents of rain followed, lasting from two to six o'clock in the evening. The rivulets all became torrents; the stream flowing through the town was so choked by uprooted trees and rocks that its water flooded the streets and almost buried them under mud and gravel. Such a sight as this gives one a powerful impression of the geological work of streams when greatly swollen; for all this débris must have been brought down from the surrounding mountains. Many lives were lost by this calamity, and a great deal of property was destroyed. Late in the year, during unsettled weather, the traveller often encounters on Alpine passes a sudden storm of snow, accompanied by violent gusts of wind, which fill the air with drifted flakes; so that becoming bewildered, he loses his way, and at last sinks down benumbed with cold and dies. Many a frequented pass in Switzerland has been the scene of death from this cause. Exhausted with fatigue, and overcome with cold, the traveller sinks down by the wayside, and the guides, after having in vain endeavoured to urge him on, are compelled, in order to save their own lives, to leave him to his fate and press forward. The name "Tourmente" is given to these storms.
On the tops of the highest mountains, even in very fine weather, the wind often blows with great force; and the north wind, supposed to be the mountaineer's best friend, is sometimes his enemy. It not unfrequently happens that a gale renders the passage of some exposed slope or ridge too dangerous, or the intense cold produces frost-bites, so that an expedition has to be abandoned when success is within reach, which naturally is very annoying. Professor Bonney, speaking of such a gale which he experienced in 1864, says,—
"The cold was something horrible; the wind seemed to blow not round, but through me, freezing my very marrow, and making my teeth chatter like castanets; and if I stopped for a moment, I shook as if in an ague-fit. It whisked up the small spiculæ of frozen snow, and dashed them against my face with such violence that it was hardly possible to look to windward. Thin sheets of ice as large as my hand were whirled along the surface of the glacier like paper.... When these gales are raging, the drifted snow is blown far to leeward of the peaks in long streamers like delicate cirrus-clouds; and on such occasions the mountain is said by the guides fumer sa pipe (to smoke his pipe). This Mont Blanc was doing to some purpose the day that we were upon him."