"I cannot describe the pleasure with which we stepped at last on to the little saddle of snow, and felt that we had won the victory."
CHAPTER XVIII
THE AIGUILLE DU DRU
Few mountains have been the object of such repeated attempts by experienced climbers to reach their summits, as was the rocky pinnacle of the Aiguille du Dru, at Chamonix. While the name of Whymper will always be associated with the Matterhorn, so will that of Clinton Dent be with the Aiguille du Dru, and the accounts given by him in his delightful little work, Above the Snow Line, of his sixteen unavailing scrambles on the peak, followed by the stirring description of how at last he got up it, are amongst the romances of mountaineering.
I have space for only a few extracts describing Mr Dent's early attempts, which even the non-climber would find very entertaining to read about in the work from which I quote. The Chamonix people, annoyed that foreign guides should monopolise the peak, threw cold water on the idea of ascending it, and were ready, if they got a chance, to deny that it had been ascended. An honourable exception to the attitude adopted by these gentry, was, however, furnished by that splendid guide, Edouard Cupelin, who always asserted that the peak was climbable, and into whose big mind no trace of jealousy was ever known to enter.
Very witty are some of the accounts of Mr Dent's earlier starts for the Aiguille du Dru. On one occasion, starting in the small hours of the morning from Chamonix, he reached the Montanvert at 3.30 A.M. "The landlord at once appeared in full costume," he writes; "indeed I observed that during the summer it was impossible to tell from his attire whether he had risen immediately from bed or no. Our friend had cultivated to great perfection the art of half sleeping during his waking hours—that is, during such time as he might be called upon to provide entertainment for man and beast. Now, at the Montanvert, during the tourists' season, this period extended over the whole twenty-four hours. It was necessary, therefore, in order that he might enjoy a proper physiological period of rest, for him to remain in a dozing state—a sort of æstival hybernation—for the whole time, which in fact he did; or else he was by nature a very dull person, and had actually a very restricted stock of ideas.
"The sight of a tourist with an ice-axe led by a kind of reflex process to the landlord's unburdening his mind with his usual remarks. Like other natives of the valley he had but two ideas of 'extraordinary' expeditions. 'Monsieur is going to the Jardin?' he remarked. 'No, monsieur isn't.' 'Then, beyond a doubt, monsieur will cross the Col du Géant?' he said, playing his trump card. 'No, monsieur will not.' 'Pardon—where does monsieur expect to go?' 'On the present occasion we go to try the Aiguille du Dru.' The landlord smiled in an aggravating manner. 'Does monsieur think he will get up?' 'Time will show.' 'Ah!' The landlord, who had a chronic cold in the head, searched for his pocket-handkerchief, but not finding it, modified the necessary sniff into one of derision." On this day the party did not get up, nor did they gain the summit a little later when they made another attempt. They then had with them a porter who gave occasion for an excellent bit of character-sketching. "He was," says Mr Dent, "as silent as an oyster, though a strong and skilful climber, and like an oyster when its youth is passed, he was continually on the gape." They mounted higher and higher, and began at last to think that success awaited them. "Old Franz chattered away to himself, as was his wont when matters went well, and on looking back on one occasion I perceived the strange phenomenon of a smile illuminating the porter's features. However, this worthy spoke no words of satisfaction, but pulled ever at his empty pipe.
"By dint of wriggling over a smooth sloping stone slab, we had got into a steep rock gully which promised to lead us to a good height. Burgener, assisted by much pushing and prodding from below, and aided on his own part by much snorting and some strong language, had managed to climb on to a great overhanging boulder that cut off the view from the rest of the party below. As he disappeared from sight we watched the paying out of the rope with as much anxiety as a fisherman eyes his vanishing line when the salmon runs. Presently the rope ceased to move, and we waited for a few moments in suspense. We felt that the critical moment of the expedition had arrived, and the fact that our own view was exceedingly limited, made us all the more anxious to hear the verdict. 'How does it look?' we called out. The answer came back in patois, a bad sign in such emergencies. For a minute or two an animated conversation was kept up; then we decided to take another opinion, and accordingly hoisted up our second guides. The chatter was redoubled. 'What does it look like?' we shouted again. 'Not possible from where we are,' was the melancholy answer, and in a tone that crushed at once all our previous elation. I could not find words at the moment to express my disappointment; but the porter could, and gallantly he came to the rescue. He opened his mouth for the first time and spoke, and he said very loud indeed that it was 'verdammt.' Precisely: that is just what it was."
On a very steep, smooth Slab of Rock.