"After a laborious trudge over many species of snow, and through many varieties of vapour—from the quality of a Scotch mist to that of a London fog—we at length stood on the depression between the Rothhorn and the Schallhorn.[5] A steep wall of snow was upon the Zinal side of the summit; but what the descent was like on the other side we could not tell, for a billow of snow tossed over its crest by the western winds, suspended o'er Zermatt with motion arrested, resembling an ocean-wave frozen in the act of breaking, cut off the view.[6]
"Croz—held hard in by the others, who kept down the Zinal side—opened his shoulders, flogged down the foam, and cut away the cornice to its junction with the summit; then boldly leaped down and called on us to follow him.
"It was well for us now that we had such a man as leader. An inferior or less daring guide would have hesitated to enter upon the descent in a dense mist; and Croz himself would have done right to pause had he been less magnificent in physique. He acted, rather than said, 'Where snow lies fast, there man can go; where ice exists, a way may be cut; it is a question of power; I have the power—all you have to do is to follow me.' Truly, he did not spare himself, and could he have performed the feats upon the boards of a theatre that he did upon this occasion, he would have brought down the house with thunders of applause. Here is what Moore wrote in his Journal "('The descent bore a strong resemblance to the Col de Pilatte, but was very much steeper and altogether more difficult, which is saying a good deal. Croz was in his element, and selected his way with marvellous sagacity, while Almer had an equally honourable and, perhaps, more responsible post in the rear, which he kept with his usual steadiness.... One particular passage has impressed itself on my mind as one of the most nervous I have ever made. We had to pass along a crest of ice, a mere knife-edge,—on our left a broad crevasse, whose bottom was lost in blue haze, and on our right, at an angle of 70°, or more, a slope falling to a similar gulf below. Croz, as he went along the edge, chipped small notches in the ice, in which we placed our feet, with the toes well turned out, doing all we knew to preserve our balance. While stepping from one of these precarious footholds to another, I staggered for a moment. I had not really lost my footing; but the agonised tone in which Almer, who was behind me, on seeing me waver, exclaimed, "Slip not, sir!" gave us an even livelier impression than we already had of the insecurity of the position.... One huge chasm, whose upper edge was far above the lower one, could neither be leaped nor turned, and threatened to prove an insuperable barrier. But Croz showed himself equal to the emergency. Held up by the rest of the party, he cut a series of holes for the hands and feet down and along the almost perpendicular wall of ice forming the upper side of the schrund. Down this slippery staircase we crept, with our faces to the wall, until a point was reached where the width of the chasm was not too great for us to drop across. Before we had done, we got quite accustomed to taking flying leaps over the schrunds.... To make a long story short; after a most desperate and exciting struggle, and as bad a piece of ice-work as it is possible to imagine, we emerged on to the upper plateau of the Hohlicht Glacier.')"
From here, in spite of many further difficulties necessitating a long detour, the party safely descended to Zermatt by the familiar Trift path.
CHAPTER XII
AN EXCITING PASSAGE OF THE COL DE PILATTE
Even now the valleys and mountains of Dauphiné are neglected in comparison with the ranges of Mont Blanc, Monte Rosa, and other famous mountain chains of the Alps. In 1864, when Mr Whymper with his friends Messrs Moore and Walker undertook a summer campaign there, it was practically unexplored from the climbers' point of view. The party was a skilful and experienced one, the guides, Almer and Croz, of the highest class, and the esprit de corps in the little army of invasion most admirable. Thus it is no wonder that peak after peak fell before them, passes were accomplished at the first assault, and no accident or annoyance spoilt the splendid series of expeditions which were so successfully accomplished. Of these I have taken the account of the crossing of the Col de Pilatte, a high glacier pass, for, though it was excelled in difficulty by other climbs, yet it is so wittily described by Mr Whymper in his Scrambles in the Alps, and gives so excellent an idea of the sort of work met with on glaciers, and the ease with which a thoroughly competent party tackles it, that it cannot fail to be read with interest.
The three Englishmen had been joined by a French friend of theirs, Monsieur Reynaud, and had left their night quarters at Entraigues at 3.30 A.M. on the morning of 27th June. Their course was prodigiously steep. In less than two miles difference of latitude they rose one mile of absolute height. The route, however, was not really difficult, and they made good progress. They had reached the foot of the steep part when I take up the narrative in Mr Whymper's own words:
"At 9.30 A.M. we commenced the ascent of the couloir leading from the nameless glacier to a point in the ridge, just to the east of Mont Bans.[7] So far the route had been nothing more than a steep grind in an angle where little could be seen, but now views opened out in several directions, and the way began to be interesting. It was more so, perhaps, to us than to our companion M. Reynaud, who had no rest in the last night. He was, moreover, heavily laden. Science was to be regarded—his pockets were stuffed with books; heights and angles were to be observed—his knapsack was filled with instruments; hunger was to be guarded against—his shoulders were ornamented with a huge nimbus of bread, and a leg of mutton swung behind from his knapsack, looking like an overgrown tail. Like a good-hearted fellow he had brought this food thinking we might be in need of it. As it happened, we were well provided for, and, having our own packs to carry, could not relieve him of his superfluous burdens, which, naturally, he did not like to throw away. As the angles steepened, the strain on his strength became more and more apparent. At last he began to groan. At first a most gentle and mellow groan; and as we rose so did his groans, till at last the cliffs were groaning in echo, and we were moved to laughter.