The Ascent of the Matterhorn

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Title: The Ascent of the Matterhorn

Author: Edward Whymper

Release Date: November 17, 2011 [Ebook #38044]

Language: English

***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ASCENT OF THE MATTERHORN***

THEY SAW MASSES OF ROCKS, BOULDERS, AND STONES, DART ROUND THE CORNER.

THE ASCENT

OF

THE MATTERHORN

BY

EDWARD WHYMPER

WITH MAPS AND ILLUSTRATIONS

Toil and pleasure, in their natures opposite, are yet linked together in a kind of necessary connection.—

Livy

.

LONDON

JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET

1880

All rights are reserved

[pg v]

PREFACE.

In the year 1860, shortly before leaving England for a long continental tour, the late Mr. William Longman requested me to make for him some sketches of the great Alpine peaks. At this time I had only a literary acquaintance with mountaineering, and had even not seen—much less set foot upon—a mountain. Amongst the peaks which were upon my list was Mont Pelvoux, in Dauphiné. The sketches that were required of it were to celebrate the triumph of some Englishmen who intended to make its ascent. They came—they saw—but they did not conquer. By a mere chance I fell in with a very agreeable Frenchman who accompanied this party, and was pressed by him to return to the assault. In 1861 we did so, with my friend Macdonald—and we conquered. This was the origin of my scrambles amongst the Alps.

The ascent of Mont Pelvoux (including the disagreeables) was a very delightful scramble. The mountain air did not act as an emetic; the sky did not look black, instead of blue; nor did I feel tempted to throw myself over precipices. I hastened to enlarge my experience, and went to the Matterhorn. I was urged towards Mont Pelvoux by those mysterious impulses which cause men to peer into the unknown. Not only was this mountain reputed to be the highest in France, and on that account was worthy of attention, but it was the dominating point of a most picturesque district of the greatest interest, which, to this day, remains almost unexplored! The Matterhorn attracted me simply by its grandeur. It was considered to be the most thoroughly inaccessible of all mountains, even by those who ought to have known better. Stimulated to make fresh exertions by one repulse after another, I returned, year [pg vi]after year, as I had opportunity, more and more determined to find a way up it, or to prove it to be really inaccessible.

The chief part of this volume is occupied by the history of these attacks on the Matterhorn, and the other excursions that are described have all some connection, more or less remote, with that mountain or with Mont Pelvoux. All are new excursions (that is, excursions made for the first time), unless the contrary is pointed out. Some have been passed over very briefly, and entire ascents or descents have been disposed of in a single line. Generally speaking, the salient points alone have been dwelt upon, and the rest has been left to the imagination. This treatment has spared the reader from much useless repetition.

In endeavouring to make the book of some use to those who may wish to go mountain-scrambling, whether in the Alps or elsewhere, prominence has been given to our mistakes and failures; and to some it may seem that our practice must have been bad if the principles which are laid down are sound, or that the principles must be unsound if the practice was good. The principles which are brought under the notice of the reader are, however, deduced from long experience, which experience had not been gained at the time that the blunders were perpetrated; and, if it had been acquired at an earlier date, there would have been fewer failures to record.

My scrambles amongst the Alps were a sort of apprenticeship in the art of mountaineering, and they were, for the most part, carried out in the company of men who were masters of their craft. In any art the learner, who wishes to do good work, does well to associate himself with master workmen, and I attribute much of the success which is recorded in this volume to my having been frequently under the guidance of the best mountaineers of the time. The hints and observations which are dispersed throughout the volume are not the result of personal experience only, they have been frequently derived from professional mountaineers, who have studied the art from their youth upwards.

[pg vii]

Without being unduly discursive in the narrative, it has not been possible to include in the text all the observations which are desirable for the general reader, and a certain amount of elementary knowledge has been pre-supposed, which perhaps some do not possess; and the opportunity is now taken of making a few remarks which may serve to elucidate those which follow.

When a man who is not a born mountaineer gets upon the side of a mountain, he speedily finds out that walking is an art; and very soon wishes that he could be a quadruped or a centipede, or anything except a biped; but, as there is a difficulty in satisfying these very natural desires, he ultimately procures an alpenstock and turns himself into a tripod. This simple implement is invaluable to the mountaineer, and when he is parted from it involuntarily (and who has not been?) he is inclined to say, just as one may remark of other friends, You were only a stick—a poor stick—but you were a true friend, and I should like to be in your company again.

Respecting the size of the alpenstock, let it be remarked that it may be nearly useless if it be too long or too short. It should always be shorter than the person who carries it, but it may be any length you like between three-fifths of your height and your extreme altitude. It should be made of ash, of the very best quality; and should support your weight upon its centre when it is suspended at its two ends. Unless shod with an iron point it can scarcely be termed an alpenstock, and the nature of the point is of some importance. The kind I prefer is shown in the annexed illustration. It has a long tang running into the wood, is supported by a rivetted collar, and its termination is extremely sharp. With a point of this description steps can be made in ice almost as readily as with an axe.

A volume might be written upon the use of the alpenstock. Its principal use is as a third leg, to extend one’s base line; and when the beginner gets this well into his head he finds the [pg viii]implement of extraordinary value. In these latter times the pure and simple alpenstock has gone out of fashion, and mountaineers now almost universally carry a stick with a point at one end and an axe-head at the other. A moveable axe-head is still a desideratum. There is a pick-axe made at Birmingham with a moveable head which is better than any other kind that I have seen, but the head is too clumsy to be held in the hand, and various improvements will have to be effected in it before it will be fit for use in mountaineering. Still, its principle appears to me to be capable of adaptation, and on that account I have introduced it here.

After the alpenstock, or axe-alpenstock, it is of most importance for the mountaineer to supply himself with plenty of good rope. Enough has been said on this subject in different parts of the narrative, as well as in regard to tents. Few other articles are necessary, though many others are desirable, to carry about, and amongst the most important may be reckoned some simple means of boiling water and cooking. At considerable altitudes above the tree-line, it is frequently impossible to carry up wood enough for a camp-fire, and nothing but spirits of wine can be employed. The well-known and convenient so-called Russian furnace is the most compact form of spirit lamp that I know, and wonders can be effected with one that is only [pg ix]three inches in diameter. In conjunction with a set of tins like those figured here (which are constructed to be used either with a wood fire or over a spirit lamp), all the cooking can be done that the Alpine tourist requires. For prolonged expeditions of a serious nature a more elaborate equipage is necessary; but upon such small ones as are made in the Alps it would be unnecessarily encumbering yourself to take a whole batterie de cuisine.¹

Before passing on to speak of clothing, a word upon snow-blindness will not be out of place. Very fine language is sometimes used to express the fact that persons suffer from their eyes becoming inflamed; and there is one well-known traveller, at least, who, when referring to snow-blindness, speaks habitually of the distressing effects which are produced by the reverberation of the snow. Snow-blindness is a malady which touches all mountain-travellers sooner or later, for it is found impossible in practice always to protect the eyes with the goggles which are shown overleaf. In critical situations almost every one removes them. The beginner should, however, note that at great altitudes it is not safe to leave the eyes unprotected even on rocks, when the sun is shining brightly; and upon snow or ice it is indispensable to shade them in some manner, unless you wish to be placed hors de combat on the next day. Should you unfortunately find yourself in this predicament through the intensity of the light, there is no help but in sulphate of zinc and patience. Of the former material a half-ounce will be sufficient for [pg x]a prolonged campaign, as a lotion compounded with two or three grains to an ounce of water will give relief; but of patience you can hardly lay in too large a stock, as a single bad day sometimes throws a man on his back for weeks.²

The whole face suffers under the alternation of heat, cold, and glare, and few mountain-travellers remain long without having their visages blistered and cracked in all directions. Now, in respect to this matter, prevention is better than cure; and, though these inconveniences cannot be entirely escaped, they may, by taking trouble, be deferred for a long time. As a travelling cap for mountain expeditions, there is scarcely anything better than the kind of helmet used by Arctic travellers, and with the eyes well shaded by its projecting peak and covered with the ordinary goggles one ought not, and will not, suffer much from snow-blindness. I have found, however, that it does not sufficiently shade the face, and that it shuts out sound too much when the side-flaps are down; and I consequently adopt a woollen headpiece, which almost entirely covers or shades the face and extends well downwards on to the shoulders. One hears sufficiently [pg xi]distinctly through the interstices of the knitted wool, and they also permit some ventilation—which the Arctic cap does not. It is a useful rather than an ornamental article of attire, and strangely affects one’s appearance.

For the most severe weather even this is not sufficient, and a mask must be added to protect the remainder of the face. You then present the appearance of the lower woodcut, and are completely disguised. Your most intimate friends—even your own mother—will disown you, and you are a fit subject for endless ridicule.

The alternations of heat and cold are rapid and severe in all high mountain ranges, and it is folly to go about too lightly clad. Woollen gloves ought always to be in the mountaineer’s pocket, for in a single hour, or less, he may experience a fall in temperature of sixty to eighty degrees. But in respect to the nature of the clothing there is little to be said beyond that it should be composed of flannels and woollens.

Upon the important subject of boots much might be written. My friends are generally surprised to find that I use elastic-side boots whilst mountaineering, and condemn them under the false impression that they will not give support to the ankles, and will be pulled off when one is traversing deep snow. I have invariably used elastic-side boots on my mountain expeditions in the Alps and elsewhere, and have found that they give sufficient support to the ankles and never draw off. My Alpine boots have always been made by Norman—a maker who knows what the requirements are, and one who will give a good boot if allowed good time.

It is fully as important to have proper nails in the boots as it [pg xii]is to have good boots. The quantity is frequently overdone, and when there are too many they are absolutely dangerous. Ice-nails, which may be considered a variety of crampon, are an abomination. The nails should be neither too large nor too numerous, and they should be disposed everywhere irregularly—not symmetrically. They disappear one by one, from time to time; and the prudent mountaineer continually examines his boots to see that sufficient numbers are left.³ A handkerchief tied round the foot, or even a few turns of cord, will afford a tolerable substitute when nails cannot be procured.

If the beginner supplies himself with the articles which have been named, he will be in possession of all the gear which is necessary for ordinary mountain excursions, and if he uses his plant properly he will avoid many of the disagreeables which are looked upon by some as almost unavoidable accompaniments of the sport of mountaineering. I have not throughout the volume ignored the dangers which are real and unavoidable, and say distinctly that too great watchfulness cannot be exercised at great altitudes. But I say now, as I have frequently said before, that the great majority of accidents which occur to mountaineers, especially to mountaineering amateurs in the Alps, are not the result of unavoidable dangers; and that they are for the most part the product of ignorance and neglect. I consider that falling rocks are the greatest danger which a mountaineer is likely to encounter, and in concluding these prefatory remarks I especially warn the novice against the things which tumble about the ears of unwary travellers.

[pg xiii]

CONTENTS.

1860

CHAPTER I.

INTRODUCTORY.

BEACHY HEAD—DEVIL OF NOTRE DAME—VISP THAL—SCRAMBLING ALONE—THE WEISSHORN—ST. BERNARD—RASCALLY GUIDE—A VILLAGE CONCERT—STORM ON THE COL DE LAUTARET

Pages 1-12

1861

CHAPTER II.

THE ASCENT OF MONT PELVOUX.

THE VALLEYS OF DAUPHINÉ—THE PEAKS OF DAUPHINÉ—MISTAKES IN THEIR IDENTIFICATION—EARLY ATTEMPTS TO ASCEND MONT PELVOUX—INTRODUCTION TO MONSIEUR REYNAUD—GRENOBLE—MEETING WITH MACDONALD—NATIONAL SENTIMENTS—WE ENGAGE A GUIDE—START FOR PELVOUX—PASS THE CAVERN OF THE VAUDOIS—MASSACRE OF THE VAUDOIS—FIRST NIGHT OUT—WE ARE REPULSED—ARRIVAL OF MACDONALD—THIRD NIGHT OUT—TORRENTS ON FIRE—FALLING ROCKS—ASCENT OF THE PELVOUX—THE PYRAMID—VIEW FROM THE SUMMIT—WE DISCOVER THE POINTE DES ECRINS—SURPRISED BY NIGHT—ON FLEAS—EN ROUTE FOR MONTE VISO—DESERTERS—CAMP ON AN ANT-HILL—ST. VERAN—PRIMITIVE MANNERS—NATURAL PILLARS—ARRIVE AT BRIANÇON

13-41

CHAPTER III.

MY FIRST SCRAMBLE ON THE MATTERHORN.

THE WEISSHORN AND THE MATTERHORN—INTRODUCTION TO JEAN-ANTOINE CARREL—SUPERSTITIONS OF THE NATIVES IN REGARD TO THE MATTERHORN—RIDGES OF THE MATTERHORN—EARLIEST ATTEMPTS TO ASCEND THE MOUNTAIN—ATTEMPT BY THE MESSRS. PARKER—ATTEMPT BY MESSRS. HAWKINS AND TYNDALL—ARRIVE AT [pg xiv]BREIL—UNWILLINGNESS OF THE GUIDES TO HAVE ANYTHING TO DO WITH THE MATTERHORN—THE CARRELS ENDEAVOUR TO CUT US OUT—THE GREAT STAIRCASE—THE COL DU LION—WE DECIDE TO CAMP THERE—GREAT EXCITEMENT FROM FALLING STONES—LIGHT AND SHADE—THE CHIMNEY—DEFEATED—A COOL PROCEEDING

42-57

1862

CHAPTER IV.

RENEWED ATTEMPTS TO ASCEND THE MATTERHORN.

MR. KENNEDY’S WINTER ATTEMPT—BENNEN REFUSES TO START AGAIN—THE THÉODULE PASS—MEYNET, THE HUNCHBACK OF BREIL—ON TENTS FOR MOUNTAINEERING—MACDONALD AND I START FOR THE MATTERHORN—NARROW ESCAPE OF KRONIG—VIOLENT WIND TURNS US BACK—ENGAGE CARREL AND PESSION AND START AGAIN—THE GREAT TOWER—PESSION BECOMES ILL AND WE ARE OBLIGED TO RETURN—BAD WEATHER—SCRAMBLE ALONE ON THE MATTERHORN—PIONEERS OF VEGETATION—VIEW FROM THE TENT—A SOLITARY BIVOUAC—MONTE VISO SEEN BY MOONLIGHT AT NINETY-EIGHT MILES’ DISTANCE—ON AIDS TO CLIMBERS—CLIMBING CLAW—FIND A NEW PLACE FOR THE TENT—I ATTAIN A GREATER ALTITUDE ALONE THAN HAD BEEN REACHED BEFORE, AND NEARLY COME TO GRIEF—MY FOURTH ATTEMPT TO ASCEND THE MATTERHORN—DEFEATED AGAIN BY WEATHER—THE CARRELS GO MARMOT-HUNTING, AND WE START FOR A FIFTH ATTEMPT—DEFEATED BY NATURAL DIFFICULTIES—TYNDALL ARRIVES AND CARRIES OFF THE CARRELS—A CANNONADE ON THE MATTERHORN—TYNDALL IS REPULSED—CONFLAGRATION IN DAUPHINÉ

58-87

1863

CHAPTER V.

THE VAL TOURNANCHE—THE BREUILJOCH—ZERMATT—FIRST ASCENT OF THE GRAND TOURNALIN.

THE DOUANE—BUT WHAT IS THIS?—DIFFICULTIES WITH MY LADDER—EXPLANATION OF TYNDALL’S REPULSE—ROMAN (?) AQUEDUCT IN THE VAL TOURNANCHE—ASCEND THE CIMES BLANCHES—WE DECEIVE A GOAT—WE INVENT A NEW PASS TO ZERMATT (BREUILJOCH)—AQUEOUS AND GLACIER EROSION—GLACIER VERSUS ROCKS—SEILER’S DISINTERESTEDNESS—THE MATTERHORN CLIFFS—EXTRAORDINARY ACCIDENT TO A CHAMOIS—COL DE VALPELLINE—THE MASTER OF PRERAYEN—ATTEMPT TO ASCEND DENT D’ERIN (D’HÉRENS)—THE VA CORNÈRE PASS—FIRST ASCENT OF THE GRAND TOURNALIN—SPLENDID VIEW FROM THE SUMMIT—ON PANORAMIC VIEWS—GOUFFRE DES BUSSERAILLES—AN ENTERPRISING INNKEEPER

88-113

[pg xv]

CHAPTER VI.

OUR SIXTH ATTEMPT TO ASCEND THE MATTERHORN.

EXTREMES MEET—THUNDER AND LIGHTNING—ECHOES OF THUNDER—GREAT ROCKFALLS DURING THE NIGHT—DEFEATED BY THE WEATHER—MYSTERIOUS MISTS

114-123

1864

CHAPTER VII.

FROM ST. MICHEL TO LA BÉRARDE BY THE COL DES AIGS. D’ARVE, COL DE MARTIGNARE, AND THE BRÈCHE DE LA MEIJE.

RETURN AGAIN TO DAUPHINÉ—MICHEL CROZ—COL DE VALLOIRES—THE AIGUILLES D’ARVE—WE MAKE A PASS BETWEEN THEM—COL DE MARTIGNARE—ASCENT OF THE AIG. DE LA SAUSSE—THE MEIJE—FIRST PASSAGE OF THE BRÈCHE DE LA MEIJE—MELCHIOR ANDEREGG—LA GRAVE—THE BRÈCHE IS WON—THE VALLON DES ETANÇONS

124-144

CHAPTER VIII.

THE FIRST ASCENT OF THE POINTE DES ECRINS.

LA BÉRARDE—PIC THE PORTER—BIVOUAC ON THE GLACIER DE LA BONNE PIERRE—DISSOLVING VIEWS—DRYNESS OF THE AIR—TOPOGRAPHY OF CENTRAL DAUPHINÉ ALPS—FIRST ATTEMPTS TO ASCEND THE ECRINS—A MIGHTY AVALANCHE—OUR ASCENT OF THE FINAL PEAK—ON SPLINTERS FROM SUMMITS—LE JEU NE VAUT PAS LA CHANDELLE—SHATTERED RIDGE—ALMER’S LEAP—SURPRISED BY NIGHT—A WARNING

145-165

CHAPTER IX.

FROM VAL LOUISE TO LA BÉRARDE BY THE COL DE PILATTE.

CHALETS OF ENTRAIGUES—ARRIVAL OF REYNAUD—ON SNOW COULOIRS—SUMMIT OF THE COL—EXCITING DESCENT—REYNAUD COMES OVER THE SCHRUND—THE LAST OF DAUPHINÉ

166-175

CHAPTER X.

THE FIRST PASSAGE OF THE COL DE TRIOLET, AND FIRST ASCENTS OF MONT DOLENT, AIGUILLE DE TRÉLATÊTE, AND AIGUILLE D’ARGENTIÈRE.

MAPS OF MONT BLANC—MR. ADAMS-REILLY—OUR COMPACT—THE PEAKS OF THE MONT BLANC RANGE—ACROSS THE COL DE TRIOLET—A MINIATURE ASCENT—REILLY [pg xvi]ADVOCATES PATIENCE—BIVOUAC ON MONT SUC—THE FIRST ASCENT OF AIG. DE TRÉLATÊTE—THE MORAINE OF THE MIAGE—ON MORAINES IN GENERAL—ERRONEOUS VIEWS RESPECTING THEM—OUR FIRST ATTEMPT TO ASCEND AIG. D’ARGENTIÈRE—A CONCEALED CAVERN—SUCCESS AT LAST—MR. REILLY’S MAP

176-192

CHAPTER XI.

THE FIRST PASSAGE OF THE MOMING PASS—ZINAL TO ZERMATT.

SWISS MENDICANTS—NIGHT ON THE ARPITETTA ALP—A PERILOUS PATH—ICE-AVALANCHE—SUMMIT OF THE MOMING PASS—CROZ DISTINGUISHES HIMSELF—THE CLUB-ROOM OF ZERMATT

193-203

1865

CHAPTER XII.

THE FIRST ASCENT OF THE GRAND CORNIER.

ON CHOICE OF ROUTES—REGRETS—ZINAL—ASCENT OF THE GRAND CORNIER—EFFECTS OF SUN AND FROST—GREAT RIDGES SUFFER MOST—POINTS OF DIFFERENCE BETWEEN ATMOSPHERIC AND GLACIER EROSION—ABRICOLLA

204-214

CHAPTER XIII.

THE ASCENT OF THE DENT BLANCHE.

LESLIE STEPHEN—KENNEDY’S ASCENT—ON BERGSCHRUNDS—UNWELCOME ATTENTIONS—A RACE FOR LIFE—BENIGHTED—A SURPRISE

215-222

CHAPTER XIV.

LOST ON THE COL D’HÉRENS—SEVENTH ATTEMPT TO ASCEND THE MATTERHORN—THE FIRST ASCENT OF THE GRANDES JORASSES.

A LATE START AND THE RESULT—BEWILDERED—RETURN TO ABRICOLLA—CROSS COL D’HÉRENS TO ZERMATT—ASCEND THE THÉODULHORN—NEW IDEAS REGARDING THE MATTERHORN—DECEPTIVENESS OF THE EAST FACE—STRATIFICATION—DIP OF THE BEDS—TRY ANOTHER ROUTE—SAUVE QUI PEUT—BEATEN AGAIN—ASCENT OF THE GRANDES JORASSES—NARROW ESCAPE FROM AN AVALANCHE

223-238

[pg xvii]

CHAPTER XV.

THE FIRST PASSAGE OF THE COL DOLENT.

CONFUSION OF IDEAS—A MIDNIGHT START—SUMMIT OF THE PASS—EXTRAORDINARY ICE-WALL—MANNER OF ITS DESCENT—ON ICE-AXES AND THEIR USE—ON ICE-SLOPES AND THEIR SAFETY—CRAMPONS—ARRIVAL AT CHAMOUNIX

239-246

CHAPTER XVI.

THE FIRST ASCENT OF THE AIGUILLE VERTE.

CROZ LEAVES US—CHRISTIAN ALMER—SUNSET ON THE MER DE GLACE—ASCENT OF THE AIGUILLE—ADVICE TO MOUNTAIN WALKERS—VIEW FROM THE SUMMIT—STORMS COME ON—A WORTHY PORTER—THE NOBLE ATTITUDE OF CHAMOUNIX

247-254

CHAPTER XVII.

THE FIRST PASSAGE OF THE COL DE TALÈFRE.

THE COL DU GÉANT—THE GLACIER DE TALÈFRE—EASY WAY FROM CHAMOUNIX TO COURMAYEUR—GLISSADING—PASSES OVER THE MAIN CHAIN OF MONT BLANC

255-258

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE FIRST ASCENT OF THE RUINETTE—THE MATTERHORN.

FACILITY WITH WHICH THE RUINETTE CAN BE ASCENDED—NOBLE PANORAMA—ON CONCEALED CREVASSES—GUIDES’ OBJECTION TO USE OF THE ROPE—ON THE USE AND ABUSE OF THE ROPE—ALMER DECLINES THE MATTERHORN—ENGAGE THE CARRELS—THEIR DEFECTION—THE ITALIANS STEAL A MARCH—ARRIVAL OF LORD FRANCIS DOUGLAS—MEETING WITH CROZ, HUDSON, AND HADOW

259-272

CHAPTER XIX.

THE FIRST ASCENT OF THE MATTERHORN.

CHARLES HUDSON—CAMP ON THE EAST FACE—CROZ REPORTS FAVOURABLY—ASCENT OF THE EASTERN FACE—CROSS TO THE NORTHERN SIDE—ARRIVAL AT SUMMIT—DISCOMFITURE OF THE ITALIANS—ASTONISHMENT AT BREIL—MARVELLOUS PANORAMA

273-283

[pg xviii]

CHAPTER XX.

THE DESCENT OF THE MATTERHORN.

ORDER OF THE DESCENT—A FRIGHTFUL AVALANCHE—HADOW SLIPS—DEATH OF CROZ, HADOW, HUDSON, AND LORD F. DOUGLAS—TERROR OF THE TAUGWALDERS—THE BROKEN ROPE—AN APPARITION—AN INFAMOUS PROPOSITION—SURPRISED BY NIGHT—SEARCH FOR AND RECOVERY OF THE BODIES—OFFICIAL EXAMINATION—THE END

284-298

APPENDIX.

[pg xix]

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

The Drawings were made on the Wood by

H. J. Boot

,

Gustave Doré

,

C. Johnson

,

J. Mahoney

,

J. W. North

,

P. Skelton

,

W. G. Smith

,

C. J. Staniland

, and

J. Wolf

; and were Engraved by

J. W.

and

Edward Whymper

.

FULL PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS.

[pg xx]

IN THE TEXT.

MAPS.

To be placed at the end of the Volume.

1.

The Matterhorn and its Glaciers

(in colours).

2.

The Valley of Zermatt; and the Central Pennine Alps.

The body of the work has been printed by Messrs.

William Clowes and Sons

; and the separate Plates have been printed by the

Author

.

THE ASCENT OF THE MATTERHORN

[pg 1]

BEACHY HEAD.

CHAPTER I.

On the 23d of July 1860, I started for my first tour in the Alps. As we steamed out into the Channel, Beachy Head came into view, and recalled a scramble of many years ago. With the impudence of ignorance, my brother⁴ and I, schoolboys both, had tried to scale that great chalk cliff. Not the head itself—where sea-birds circle, and where the flints are ranged so orderly in parallel lines—but at a place more to the east, where the pinnacle called the Devil’s Chimney had fallen down. Since that time we have been often in dangers of different kinds, but never have we more nearly broken our necks than upon that occasion.

In Paris I made two ascents. The first to the seventh floor of [pg 2]a house in the Quartier Latin—to an artist friend, who was engaged, at the moment of my entry, in combat with a little Jew. He hurled him with great good-will, and with considerable force, into some of his crockery, and then recommended me to go up the towers of Notre Dame. Half-an-hour later I stood on the parapet of the great west front, by the side of the leering fiend which for centuries has looked down upon the great city, and then took rail to Switzerland; saw the sunlight lingering on the giants of the Oberland; heard the echoes from the cow-horns in the Lauterbrunnen valley and the avalanches rattling off the Jungfrau; and crossed the Gemmi into the Valais.

THE DEVIL OF NOTRE DAME.

I was bound for the valley of Saas, and my work took me high up the Alps on either side; far beyond the limit of trees and the tracks of tourists. The view from the slopes of the Weissmies, on the eastern side of the valley, 5000 or 6000 feet above the village of Saas, is perhaps the finest of its kind in the Alps. The full height of the three-peaked Mischabel (the highest mountain in Switzerland) is seen at one glance; 11,000 feet of dense forests, green alps, rocky pinnacles, and glittering glaciers. The peaks seemed to me then to be hopelessly inaccessible from this direction.

I next descended the valley to the village of Stalden, and went up the Visp Thal to Zermatt, and stopped there several days. Numerous traces of the formidable earthquake-shocks of five years before still remained; particularly at St. Nicholas, where the inhabitants had been terrified beyond measure at the destruction of their churches and houses. At this place, as well as at Visp, a large part of the population was obliged to live under canvas for several months. It is remarkable that there was hardly a life lost [pg 3]on this occasion, although there were about fifty shocks, some of which were very severe.

At Zermatt I wandered in many directions, but the weather was bad, and my work was much retarded. One day, after spending a long time in attempts to sketch near the Hörnli, and in futile endeavours to seize the forms of the peaks as they for a few seconds peered out from above the dense banks of woolly clouds, I determined not to return to Zermatt by the usual path, and to cross the Gorner glacier to the Riffel hotel. After a rapid scramble over the polished rocks and snowbeds which skirt the base of the Théodule glacier, and wading through some of the streams which flow from it, at that time much swollen by the late rains, the first difficulty was arrived at, in the shape of a precipice about three hundred feet high. It seemed that it would be easy enough to cross the glacier if the cliff could be descended; but higher up, and lower down, the ice appeared, to my inexperienced eyes, to be impassable for a single person. The general contour of the cliff was nearly perpendicular, but it was a good deal broken up, and there was little difficulty in descending by zigzagging from one mass to another. At length there was a long slab, nearly smooth, fixed at an angle of about forty degrees between two wall-sided pieces of rock. Nothing, except the glacier, could be seen below. It was an awkward place, but I passed it at length by lying across the slab, putting the shoulders stiffly against one side, and the feet against the other, and gradually wriggling down, by first moving the legs and then the back. When the bottom of the slab was gained a friendly crack was seen, into which the point of the baton could be stuck, and I dropped down to the next piece. It took a long time coming down that little bit of cliff, and for a few seconds it was satisfactory to see the ice close at hand. In another moment a second difficulty presented itself. The glacier swept round an angle of the cliff, and as the ice was not of the nature of treacle or thin putty, it kept away from the little bay, on the edge of which I stood. We were not widely separated, but the edge of the ice was higher [pg 4]than the opposite edge of rock; and worse, the rock was covered with loose earth and stones which had fallen from above. All along the side of the cliff, as far as could be seen in both directions, the ice did not touch it, but there was this marginal crevasse, seven feet wide, and of unknown depth.

All this was seen at a glance, and almost at once I concluded that I could not jump the crevasse, and began to try along the cliff lower down; but without success, for the ice rose higher and higher, until at last further progress was stopped by the cliffs becoming perfectly smooth. With an axe it would have been possible to cut up the side of the ice; without one I saw there was no alternative but to return and face the jump.

Night was approaching, and the solemn stillness of the High Alps was broken only by the sound of rushing water or of falling rocks. If the jump should be successful,—well; if not, I fell into that horrible chasm, to be frozen in, or drowned in that gurgling, rushing water. Everything depended on that jump. Again I asked myself, Can it be done? It must be. So, finding my stick was useless, I threw it and the sketch-book to the ice, and first retreating as far as possible, ran forward with all my might, took the leap, barely reached the other side, and fell awkwardly on my knees.

The glacier was crossed without further trouble, but the Riffel,⁵ which was then a very small building, was crammed with tourists, and could not take me in. As the way down was unknown to me, some of the people obligingly suggested getting a man at the chalets, otherwise the path would be certainly lost in the forest. On arriving at the chalets no man could be found, and the lights [pg 5]of Zermatt, shining through the trees, seemed to say, Never mind a guide, but come along down, I’ll show you the way; so off I went through the forest, going straight towards them. The path was lost in a moment, and was never recovered. I was tripped up by pine-roots, tumbled over rhododendron bushes, fell over rocks. The night was pitch dark, and after a time the lights of Zermatt became obscure, or went out altogether. By a series of slides, or falls, or evolutions more or less disagreeable, the descent through the forest was at length accomplished; but torrents of formidable character had still to be passed before one could arrive at Zermatt. I felt my way about for hours, almost hopelessly; by an exhaustive process at last discovering a bridge, and about midnight, covered with dirt and scratches, re-entered the inn which I had quitted in the morning.

Others besides tourists get into difficulties. A day or two afterwards, when on the way to my old station, near the Hörnli, I met a stout curé who had essayed to cross the Théodule pass. His strength or his wind had failed, and he was being carried down, a helpless bundle and a ridiculous spectacle, on the back of a lanky guide; while the peasants stood by, with folded hands, their reverence for the church almost overcome by their sense of the ludicrous.

I descended the valley, diverging from the path at Randa to mount the slopes of the Dom,⁶ in order to see the Weisshorn face to face. The latter mountain is the noblest in Switzerland, and from this direction it looks especially magnificent. On its north