The north wind had freshened, we were in the shade, and the cold was

very keen. Placing a bottle of tea and a small quantity of provisions in

the knapsack, and a few figs and dried prunes in our pockets, we

commenced the ascent. The Finsteraarhorn sends down a number of cliffy

buttresses, separated from each other by wide couloirs filled with ice

and snow. We ascended one of these buttresses for a time, treading

cautiously among the spiky rocks; afterwards we went along the snow at

the edge of the spine, and then fairly parted company with the rock,

abandoning ourselves to the _neve_ of the couloir. The latter was steep,

and the snow was so firm that steps had to be cut in it. Once I paused

upon a little ledge, which gave me a slight footing, and took the

inclination. The slope formed an angle of 45 deg. with the horizon; and

across it, at a little distance below me, a gloomy fissure opened its

jaws. The sun now cleared the summits which had before cut off his rays,

and burst upon us with great power, compelling us to resort to our

veils and dark spectacles. Two years before, Bennen had been nearly

blinded by inflammation brought on by the glare from the snow, and he

now took unusual care in protecting his eyes. The rocks looking more

practicable, we again made towards them, and clambered among them till a

vertical precipice, which proved impossible of ascent, fronted us.

Bennen scanned the obstacle closely as we slowly approached it, and

finally descended to the snow, which wound at a steep angle round its

base: on this the footing appeared to me to be singularly insecure, but

I marched without hesitation or anxiety in the footsteps of my guide.

[Sidenote: THE CREST OF ROCKS. 1858.]

We ascended the rocks once more, continued along them for some time, and

then deviated to the couloir on our left. This snow-slope is much

dislocated at its lower portion, and above its precipices and crevasses

our route now lay. The snow was smooth, and sufficiently firm and steep

to render the cutting of steps necessary. Bennen took the lead: to make

each step he swung his mattock once, and his hindmost foot rose exactly

at the moment the mattock descended; there was thus a kind of rhythm in

his motion, the raising of the foot keeping time to the swing of the

implement. In this manner we proceeded till we reached the base of the

rocky pyramid which caps the mountain.

[Sidenote: THE SUMMIT GAINED. 1858.]

One side of the pyramid had been sliced off, thus dropping down almost a

sheer precipice for some thousands of feet to the Finsteraar glacier. A

wall of rock, about 10 or 15 feet high, runs along the edge of the

mountain, and this sheltered us from the north wind, which surged with

the sound of waves against the tremendous barrier at the other side.

"Our hardest work is now before us," said my guide. Our way lay up the

steep and splintered rocks, among which we sought out the spikes which

were closely enough wedged to bear our weight. Each had to trust to

himself, and I fulfilled to the letter my engagement with Bennen to ask

no help. My boiling-water apparatus and telescope were on my back, much

to my annoyance, as the former was heavy, and sometimes swung awkwardly

round as I twisted myself among the cliffs. Bennen offered to take it,

but he had his own share to carry, and I was resolved to bear mine.

Sometimes the rocks alternated with spaces of ice and snow, which we

were at intervals compelled to cross; sometimes, when the slope was pure

ice and very steep, we were compelled to retreat to the highest cliffs.

The wall to which I have referred had given way in some places, and

through the gaps thus formed the wind rushed with a loud, wild, wailing

sound. Through these spaces I could see the entire field of Agassiz's

observations; the junction of the Lauteraar and Finsteraar glaciers at

the Abschwung, the medial moraine between them, on which stood the Hotel

des Neufchatelois, and the pavilion built by M. Dollfuss, in which

Huxley and myself had found shelter two years before. Bennen was

evidently anxious to reach the summit, and recommended all observations

to be postponed until after our success had been assured. I agreed to

this, and kept close at his heels. Strong as he was, he sometimes

paused, laid his head upon his mattock, and panted like a chased deer.

He complained of fearful thirst, and to quench it we had only my bottle

of tea: this we shared loyally, my guide praising its virtues, as well

he might. Still the summit loomed above us; still the angry swell of the

north wind, beating against the torn battlements of the mountain, made

wild music. Upward, however, we strained; and at last, on gaining the

crest of a rock, Bennen exclaimed, in a jubilant voice, "_Die hoechste

Spitze!_"--the highest point. In a moment I was at his side, and saw the

summit within a few paces of us. A minute or two placed us upon the

topmost-pinnacle, with the blue dome of heaven above us, and a world of

mountains, clouds, and glaciers beneath.

A notion is entertained by many of the guides that if you go to sleep at

the summit of any of the highest mountains, you will

"Sleep the sleep that knows no waking."

[Sidenote: THERMOMETER PLACED. 1858.]

Bennen did not appear to entertain this superstition; and before

starting in the morning, I had stipulated for ten minutes' sleep on

reaching the summit, as part compensation for the loss of the night's

rest. My first act, after casting a glance over the glorious scene

beneath us, was to take advantage of this agreement; so I lay down and

had five minutes' sleep, from which I rose refreshed and brisk. The sun

at first beat down upon us with intense force, and I exposed my

thermometers; but thin veils of vapour soon drew themselves before the

sun, and denser mists spread over the valley of the Rhone, thus

destroying all possibility of concert between Ramsay and myself. I

turned therefore to my boiling-water apparatus, filled it with snow,

melted the first charge, put more in, and boiled it; ascertaining the

boiling point to be 187 deg. Fahrenheit. On a sheltered ledge, about two or

three yards south of the highest point, I placed a minimum-thermometer,

in the hope that it would enable us in future years to record the lowest

winter temperatures at the summit of the mountain.[A]

[Sidenote: SCENE FROM THE SUMMIT. 1858.]

It is difficult to convey any just impression of the scene from the

summit of the Finsteraarhorn: one might, it is true, arrange the visible

mountains in a list, stating their heights and distances, and leaving

the imagination to furnish them with peaks and pinnacles, to build the

precipices, polish the snow, rend the glaciers, and cap the highest

summits with appropriate clouds. But if imagination did its best in this

way, it would hardly exceed the reality, and would certainly omit many

details which contribute to the grandeur of the scene itself. The

various shapes of the mountains, some grand, some beautiful, bathed in

yellow sunshine, or lying black and riven under the frown of impervious

cumuli; the pure white peaks, cornices, bosses, and amphitheatres; the

blue ice rifts, the stratified snow-precipices, the glaciers issuing

from the hollows of the eternal hills, and stretching like frozen

serpents through the sinuous valleys; the lower cloud field--itself an

empire of vaporous hills--shining with dazzling whiteness, while here

and there grim summits, brown by nature, and black by contrast, pierce

through it like volcanic islands through a shining sea,--add to this the

consciousness of one's position which clings to one _unconsciously_,

that undercurrent of emotion which surrounds the question of one's

personal safety, at a height of more than 14,000 feet above the sea, and

which is increased by the weird strange sound of the wind surging with

the full deep boom of the distant sea against the precipice behind, or

rising to higher cadences as it forces itself through the crannies of

the weatherworn rocks,--all conspire to render the scene from the

Finsteraarhorn worthy of the monarch of the Bernese Alps.

[Sidenote: "HAVE NO FEAR." 1858.]

[Sidenote: DISCIPLINE. 1858.]

My guide at length warned me that we must be moving; repeating the

warning more impressively before I attended to it. We packed up, and as

we stood beside each other ready to march he asked me whether we should

tie ourselves together, at the same time expressing his belief that it

was unnecessary. Up to this time we had been separate, and the thought

of attaching ourselves had not occurred to me till he mentioned it. I

thought it, however, prudent to accept the suggestion, and so we united

our destinies by a strong rope. "Now," said Bennen, "have no fear; no

matter how you throw yourself, I will hold you." Afterwards, on another

perilous summit, I repeated this saying of Bennen's to a strong and

active guide, but his observation was that it was a hardy untruth, for

that in many places Bennen could not have held me. Nevertheless a daring

word strengthens the heart, and, though I felt no trace of that

sentiment which Bennen exhorted me to banish, and was determined, as far

as in me lay, to give him no opportunity of trying his strength in

saving me, I liked the fearless utterance of the man, and sprang

cheerily after him. Our descent was rapid, apparently reckless, amid

loose spikes, boulders, and vertical prisms of rock, where a false step

would assuredly have been attended with broken bones; but the

consciousness of certainty in our movements never forsook us, and proved

a source of keen enjoyment. The senses were all awake, the eye clear,

the heart strong, the limbs steady, yet flexible, with power of recovery

in store, and ready for instant action should the footing give way. Such

is the discipline which a perilous ascent imposes.

[Sidenote: DESCENT BY GLISSADES. 1858.]

We finally quitted the crest of rocks, and got fairly upon the snow once

more. We first went downwards at a long swinging trot. The sun having

melted the crust which we were compelled to cut through in the morning,

the leg at each plunge sank deeply into the snow; but this sinking was

partly in the direction of the slope of the mountain, and hence assisted

our progress. Sometimes the crust was hard enough to enable us to glide

upon it for long distances while standing erect; but the end of these

_glissades_ was always a plunge and tumble in the deeper snow. Once upon

a steep hard slope Bennen's footing gave way; he fell, and went down

rapidly, pulling me after him. I fell also, but turning quickly, drove

the spike of my hatchet into the ice, got good anchorage, and held both

fast; my success assuring me that I had improved as a mountaineer since

my ascent of Mont Blanc. We tumbled so often in the soft snow, and our

clothes and boots were so full of it, that we thought we might as well

try the sitting posture in gliding down. We did so, and descended with

extraordinary velocity, being checked at intervals by a bodily immersion

in the softer and deeper snow. I was usually in front of Bennen,

shooting down with the speed of an arrow and feeling the check of the

rope when the rapidity of my motion exceeded my guide's estimate of

what was safe. Sometimes I was behind him, and darted at intervals with

the swiftness of an avalanche right upon him; sometimes in the same

transverse line with him, with the full length of the rope between us;

and here I found its check unpleasant, as it tended to make me roll

over. My feet were usually in the air, and it was only necessary to turn

them right or left, like the helm of a boat, to change the direction of

motion and avoid a difficulty, while a vigorous dig of leg and hatchet

into the snow was sufficient to check the motion and bring us to rest.

Swiftly, yet cautiously, we glided into the region of crevasses, where

we at last rose, quite wet, and resumed our walking, until we reached

the point where we had left our wine in the morning, and where I

squeezed the water from my wet clothes, and partially dried them in the

sun.

[Sidenote: THE VIESCH GLACIER. 1858.]

We had left some things at the cave of the Faulberg, and it was Bennen's

first intention to return that way and take them home with him. Finding,

however, that we could traverse the Viescher glacier almost to the

AEggischhorn, I made this our highway homewards. At the place where we

entered it, and for an hour or two afterwards, the glacier was cut by

fissures, for the most part covered with snow. We had packed up our

rope, and Bennen admonished me to tread in his steps. Three or four

times he half disappeared in the concealed fissures, but by clutching

the snow he rescued himself and went on as swiftly as before. Once my

leg sank, and the ring of icicles some fifty feet below told me that I

was in the jaws of a crevasse; my guide turned sharply--it was the only

time that I had seen concern on his countenance:--

"_Gott's Donner! Sie haben meine Tritte nicht gefolgt._"

"_Doch!_" was my only reply, and we went on. He scarcely tried the snow

that he crossed, as from its form and colour he could in most cases

judge of its condition. For a long time we kept at the left-hand side of

the glacier, avoiding the fissures which were now permanently open. We

came upon the tracks of a herd of chamois, which had clambered from the

glacier up the sides of the Oberaarhorn, and afterwards crossed the

glacier to the right-hand side, my guide being perfect master of the

ground. His eyes went in advance of his steps, and his judgment was

formed before his legs moved. The glacier was deeply fissured, but there

was no swerving, no retreating, no turning back to seek more practicable

routes; each stride told, and every stroke of the axe was a profitable

investment of labour.

We left the glacier for a time, and proceeded along the mountain side,

till we came near the end of the Trift glacier, where we let ourselves

down an awkward face of rock along the track of a little cascade, and

came upon the glacier once more. Here again I had occasion to admire the

knowledge and promptness of my guide. The glacier, as is well known, is

greatly dislocated, and has once or twice proved a prison to guides and

travellers, but Bennen led me through the confusion without a pause. We

were sometimes in the middle of the glacier, sometimes on the moraine,

and sometimes on the side of the flanking mountain. Towards the end of

the day we crossed what seemed to be the consolidated remains of a great

avalanche; on this my foot slipped, there was a crevasse at hand, and a

sudden effort was necessary to save me from falling into it. In making

this effort the spike of my axe turned uppermost, and the palm of my

hand came down upon it, thus receiving a very ugly wound. We were soon

upon the green alp, having bidden a last farewell to the ice. Another

hour's hard walking brought us to our hotel. No one seeing us crossing

the alp would have supposed that we had laid such a day's work behind

us; the proximity of home gave vigour to our strides, and our progress

was much more speedy than it had been on starting in the morning. I was

affectionately welcomed by Ramsay, had a warm bath, dined, went to bed,

where I lay fast locked in sleep for eight hours, and rose next morning

as fresh and vigorous as if I had never scaled the Finsteraarhorn.

FOOTNOTES:

[A] The following note describes the single observation made with this

thermometer. Mr. B. informs me that on finding the instrument Bennen

swung it in triumph round his head. I fear, therefore, that the

observation gives us no certain information regarding the minimum

winter-temperature.

"St. Nicholas, 1859, Aug. 25.

"Sir,--On Tuesday last (the 23rd inst.) a party, consisting of Messrs.

B., H., R. L., and myself, succeeded in reaching the summit of the

Finsteraarhorn under the guidance of Bennen and Melchior Anderegg. We

made it an especial object to observe and reset the minimum-thermometer

which you left there last year. On reaching the summit, before I had

time to stop him, Bennen produced the instrument, and it is just

possible that in moving it he may have altered the position of the

index. However, as he held the instrument horizontally, and did not, as

far as I saw, give it any sensible jerk, I have great confidence that

the index remained unmoved.

"The reading of the index was -32 deg. Cent.

"A portion of the spirit extending over about 10-1/2 deg. (and standing

tween 33 deg. and 43-1/2 deg.) was separated from the rest, but there

appeared to be no data for determining when the separation had taken place.

As it appeared desirable to unite the two portions of spirit before again

setting the index to record the cold of another winter, we endeavoured

to effect this by heating the bulb, but unfortunately, just as we were

expecting to see them coalesce, the bulb burst, and I have now to

express my great regret that my clumsiness or ignorance of the proper

mode of setting the instrument in order should have interfered with the

continuance of observations of so much interest. The remains of the

instrument, together with a note of the accident, I have left in the

charge of Wellig, the landlord of the hotel on the AEggischhorn.

"We reached the summit about 10.40 A.M. and remained there till noon;

the reading of a pocket thermometer in the shade was 41 deg. F.

"Should there be any further details connected with our ascent on which

you would like to have information, I shall be happy to supply them to

the best of my recollection. Meanwhile, with a farther apology for my

clumsiness, I beg to subscribe myself yours respectfully,

"H."

"Professor Tyndall."

(17.)

[Sidenote: A ROTATING ICEBERG. 1858.]

On the 6th of August there was a long fight between mist and sunshine,

each triumphing by turns, till at length the orb gained the victory and

cleansed the mountains from every trace of fog. We descended to the

Maerjelen See, and, wishing to try the floating power of its icebergs, at

a place where masses sufficiently large approached near to the shore, I

put aside a portion of my clothes, and retaining my boots stepped upon

the floating ice. It bore me for a time, and I hoped eventually to be

able to paddle myself over the water. On swerving a little, however,

from the position in which I first stood, the mass turned over and let

me into the lake. I tried a second one, which served me in the same

manner; the water was too cold to continue the attempt, and there was

also some risk of being unpleasantly ground between the opposing

surfaces of the masses of ice. A very large iceberg which had been

detached some short time previously from the glacier lay floating at

some distance from us. Suddenly a sound like that of a waterfall drew

our attention towards it. We saw it roll over with the utmost

deliberation, while the water which it carried along with it rushed in

cataracts down its sides. Its previous surface was white, its present

one was of a lovely blue, the submerged crystal having now come to the

air. The summerset of this iceberg produced a commotion all over the

lake; the floating masses at its edge clashed together, and a mellow

glucking sound, due to the lapping of the undulations against the frozen

masses, continued long afterwards.

We subsequently spent several hours upon the glacier; and on this day I

noticed for the first time a contemporaneous exhibition of _bedding_ and

_structure_ to which I shall refer at another place. We passed finally

to the left bank of the glacier, at some distance below the base of the

AEggischhorn, and traced its old moraines at intervals along the flanks

of the bounding mountain. At the summit of the ridge we found several

fine old _roches moutonnees_, on some of which the scratchings of a

glacier long departed were well preserved; and from the direction of the

scratchings it might be inferred that the ice moved down the mountain

towards the valley of the Rhone. A plunge into a lonely mountain lake

ended the day's excursion.

[Sidenote: END OF THE ALETSCH GLACIER. 1858.]

On the 7th of August we quitted this noble station. Sending our guide on

to Viesch to take a conveyance and proceed with our luggage down the

valley, Ramsay and myself crossed the mountains obliquely, desiring to

trace the glacier to its termination. We had no path, but it was hardly

possible to go astray. We crossed spurs, climbed and descended pleasant

mounds, sometimes with the soft grass under our feet, and sometimes

knee-deep in rhododendrons. It took us several hours to reach the end of

the glacier, and we then looked down upon it merely. It lay couched like

a reptile in a wild gorge, as if it had split the mountain by its frozen

snout. We afterwards descended to Moerill, where we met our guide and

driver; thence down the valley to Visp; and the following evening saw us

lodged at the Monte Rosa hotel in Zermatt.

The boiling point of water on the table of the _salle a manger_, I found

to be 202.58 deg. Fahr.

[Sidenote: MEADOWS INVADED BY ICE. 1858.]

On the following morning I proceeded without my friend to the Goerner

glacier. As is well known, the end of this glacier has been steadily

advancing for several years, and when I saw it, the meadow in front of

it was partly shrivelled up by its irresistible advance. I was informed

by my host that within the last sixty years forty-four chalets had been

overturned by the glacier, the ground on which they stood being occupied

by the ice; at present there are others for which a similar fate seems

imminent. In thus advancing the glacier merely takes up ground which

belonged to it in former ages, for the rounded rocks which rise out of

the adjacent meadow show that it once passed over them.

I had arranged to meet Ramsay this morning on the road to the

Riffelberg. The meeting took place, but I then learned that a minute or

two after my departure he had received intelligence of the death of a

near relative. Thus was our joint expedition terminated, for he resolved

to return at once to England. At my solicitation he accompanied me to

the Riffel hotel. We had planned an ascent of Monte Rosa together, but

the arrangement thus broke down, and I was consequently thrown upon my

own resources. Lauener had never made the ascent, but he nevertheless

felt confident that we should accomplish it together.

FIRST ASCENT OF MONTE ROSA, 1858.

(18.)

[Sidenote: THE RIFFELBERG. 1858.]

[Sidenote: SOUNDS ON THE GLACIER. 1858.]

On Monday, the 9th of August, we reached the Riffel, and, by good

fortune, on the evening of the same day, my guide's brother, the

well-known Ulrich Lauener, also arrived at the hotel on his return from

Monte Rosa. From him we obtained all the information possible respecting

the ascent, and he kindly agreed to accompany us a little way the next

morning, to put us on the right track. At three A.M. the door of my

bedroom opened, and Christian Lauener announced to me that the weather

was sufficiently good to justify an attempt. The stars were shining

overhead; but Ulrich afterwards drew our attention to some heavy clouds

which clung to the mountains on the other side of the valley of the

Visp; remarking that the weather _might_ continue fair throughout the

day, but that these clouds were ominous. At four o'clock we were on our

way, by which time a gray stratus cloud had drawn itself across the neck

of the Matterhorn, and soon afterwards another of the same nature

encircled his waist. We proceeded past the Riffelhorn to the ridge above

the Goerner glacier, from which Monte Rosa was visible from top to

bottom, and where an animated conversation in Swiss patois commenced.

Ulrich described the slopes, passes, and precipices, which were to guide

us; and Christian demanded explanations, until he was finally able to

declare to me that his knowledge was sufficient. We then bade Ulrich

good-bye, and went forward. All was clear about Monte Rosa, and the

yellow morning light shone brightly upon its uppermost snows. Beside the

Queen of the Alps was the huge mass of the Lyskamm, with a saddle

stretching from the one to the other; next to the Lyskamm came two

white rounded mounds, smooth and pure, the Twins Castor and Pollux, and

further to the right again the broad brown flank of the Breithorn.

Behind us Mont Cervin gathered the clouds more thickly round him, until

finally his grand obelisk was totally hidden. We went along the

mountain-side for a time, and then descended to the glacier. The surface

was hard frozen, and the ice crunched loudly under our feet. There was a

hollowness and volume in the sound which require explanation; and this,

I think, is furnished by the remarks of Sir John Herschel on those

hollow sounds at the Solfaterra, near Naples, from which travellers have

inferred the existence of cavities within the mountain. At the place

where these sounds are heard the earth is friable, and, when struck, the

concussion is reinforced and lengthened by the partial echoes from the

surfaces of the fragments. The conditions for a similar effect exist

upon the glacier, for the ice is disintegrated to a certain depth, and

from the innumerable places of rupture little reverberations are sent,

which give a length and hollowness to the sound produced by the crushing

of the fragments on the surface.

We looked to the sky at intervals, and once a meteor slid across it,

leaving a train of sparks behind. The blue firmament, from which the

stars shone down so brightly when we rose, was more and more invaded by

clouds, which advanced upon us from our rear, while before us the solemn

heights of Monte Rosa were bathed in rich yellow sunlight. As the day

advanced the radiance crept down towards the valleys; but still those

stealthy clouds advanced like a besieging army, taking deliberate

possession of the summits, one after the other, while gray skirmishers

moved through the air above us. The play of light and shadow upon Monte

Rosa was at times beautiful, bars of gloom and zones of glory shifting

and alternating from top to bottom of the mountain.

[Sidenote: ADVANCE OF THE CLOUDS. 1858.]

At five o'clock a gray cloud alighted on the shoulder of the Lyskamm,

which had hitherto been warmed by the lovely yellow light. Soon

afterwards we reached the foot of Monte Rosa, and passed from the

glacier to a slope of rocks, whose rounded forms and furrowed surfaces

showed that the ice of former ages had moved over them; the granite was

now coated with lichens, and between the bosses where mould could rest

were patches of tender moss. As we ascended, a peal to the right

announced the descent of an avalanche from the Twins; it came heralded

by clouds of ice-dust, which resembled the sphered masses of condensed

vapour which issue from a locomotive. A gentle snow-slope brought us to

the base of a precipice of brown rocks, round which we wound; the snow

was in excellent order, and the chasms were so firmly bridged by the

frozen mass that no caution was necessary in crossing them. Surmounting

a weathered cliff to our left, we paused upon the summit to look upon

the scene around us. The snow gliding insensibly from the mountains, or

discharged in avalanches from the precipices which it overhung, filled

the higher valleys with pure white glaciers, which were rifted and

broken here and there, exposing chasms and precipices from which gleamed

the delicate blue of the half-formed ice. Sometimes, however, the

_neves_ spread over wide spaces without a rupture or wrinkle to break

the smoothness of the superficial snow. The sky was now for the most

part overcast, but through the residual blue spaces the sun at intervals

poured light over the rounded bosses of the mountain.

[Sidenote: MONTE ROSA CAPPED. 1858.]

At half-past seven o'clock we reached another precipice of rock, to the

left of which our route lay, and here Lauener proposed to have some

refreshment; after which we went on again. The clouds spread more and

more, leaving at length mere specks and patches of blue between them.

Passing some high peaks, formed by the dislocation of the ice, we came

to a place where the _neve_ was rent by crevasses, on the walls of which

the stratification due to successive snow-falls was shown with great

beauty and definition. Between two of these fissures our way now lay:

the wall of one of them was hollowed out longitudinally midway down,

thus forming a roof above and a ledge below, and from roof to ledge

stretched a railing of cylindrical icicles, as if intended to bolt them

together. A cloud now for the first time touched the summit of Monte

Rosa, and sought to cling to it, but in a minute it dispersed in

shattered fragments, as if dashed to pieces for its presumption. The

mountain remained for a time clear and triumphant, but the triumph was

short-lived: like suitors that will not be repelled, the dusky vapours

came; repulse after repulse took place, and the sunlight gushed down

upon the heights, but it was manifest that the clouds gained ground in

the conflict.

Until about a quarter past nine o'clock our work was mere child's play,

a pleasant morning stroll along the flanks of the mountain; but steeper

slopes now rose above us, which called for more energy, and more care in

the fixing of the feet. Looked at from below, some of these slopes

appeared precipitous; but we were too well acquainted with the effect of

fore-shortening to let this daunt us. At each step we dug our batons

into the deep snow. When first driven in, the batons[A] _dipped_ from

us, but were brought, as we walked forward, to the vertical, and finally

beyond it at the other side. The snow was thus forced aside, a rubbing

of the staff against it, and of the snow-particles against each other,

being the consequence. We had thus perpetual rupture and regelation;

while the little sounds consequent upon rupture, reinforced by the

partial echoes from the surfaces of the granules, were blended together

to a note resembling the lowing of cows. Hitherto I had paused at

intervals to make notes, or to take an angle; but these operations now

ceased, not from want of time, but from pure dislike; for when the eye

has to act the part of a sentinel who feels that at any moment the enemy

may be upon him; when the body must be balanced with precision, and legs

and arms, besides performing actual labour, must be kept in readiness

for possible contingencies; above all, when you feel that your safety

depends upon yourself alone, and that, if your footing gives way, there

is no strong arm behind ready to be thrown between you and destruction;

under such circumstances the relish for writing ceases, and you are

willing to hand over your impressions to the safe keeping of memory.

[Sidenote: THE "COMB" OF THE MOUNTAIN. 1858.]

[Sidenote: ASCENT ALONG A CORNICE. 1858.]

From the vast boss which constitutes the lower portion of Monte Rosa

cliffy edges run upwards to the summit. Were the snow removed from these

we should, I doubt not, see them as toothed or serrated crags,

justifying the term "_kamm_," or "comb," applied to such edges by the

Germans. Our way now lay along such a kamm, the cliffs of which had,

however, caught the snow, and been completely covered by it, forming an

edge like the ridge of a house-roof, which sloped steeply upwards. On

the Lyskamm side of the edge there was no footing, and, if a human body

fell over here, it would probably pass through a vertical space of some

thousands of feet, falling or rolling, before coming to rest. On the

other side the snow-slope was less steep, but excessively

perilous-looking, and intersected by precipices of ice. Dense clouds now

enveloped us, and made our position far uglier than if it had been

fairly illuminated. The valley below us was one vast cauldron, filled

with precipitated vapour, which came seething at times up the sides of

the mountain. Sometimes this fog would partially clear away, and the

light would gleam upwards from the dislocated glaciers. My guide

continually admonished me to make my footing sure, and to fix at each

step my staff firmly in the consolidated snow. At one place, for a short

steep ascent, the slope became hard ice, and our position a very

ticklish one. We hewed our steps as we moved upwards, but were soon glad

to deviate from the ice to a position scarcely less awkward. The wind

had so acted upon the snow as to fold it over the edge of the kamm, thus

causing it to form a kind of cornice, which overhung the precipice on

the Lyskamm side of the mountain. This cornice now bore our weight: its

snow had become somewhat firm, but it was yielding enough to permit the

feet to sink in it a little way, and thus secure us at least against the

danger of slipping. Here also at each step we drove our batons firmly

into the snow, availing ourselves of whatever help they could render.

Once, while thus securing my anchorage, the handle of my hatchet went

right through the cornice on which we stood, and, on withdrawing it, I

could see through the aperture into the cloud-crammed gulf below. We

continued ascending until we reached a rock protruding from the snow,

and here we halted for a few minutes. Lauener looked upwards through the

fog. "According to all description," he observed, "this ought to be the

last kamm of the mountain; but in this obscurity we can see nothing."

Snow began to fall, and we recommenced our journey, quitting the rocks

and climbing again along the edge. Another hour brought us to a crest of

cliffs, at which, to our comfort, the kamm appeared to cease, and other

climbing qualities were demanded of us.

[Sidenote: "DIE HOeCHSTE SPITZE." 1858.]

On the Lyskamm side, as I have said, rescue would be out of the

question, should the climber go over the edge. On the other side of the

edge rescue seemed possible, though the slope, as stated already, was

most dangerously steep. I now asked Lauener what he would have done,

supposing my footing to have failed on the latter slope. He did not

seem to like the question, but said that he should have considered well

for a moment and then have sprung after me; but he exhorted me to drive

all such thoughts away. I laughed at him, and this did more to set his

mind at rest than any formal profession of courage could have done. We

were now among rocks: we climbed cliffs and descended them, and advanced

sometimes with our feet on narrow ledges, holding tightly on to other

ledges by our fingers; sometimes, cautiously balanced, we moved along

edges of rock with precipices on both sides. Once, in getting round a

crag, Lauener shook a book from his pocket; it was arrested by a rock

about sixty or eighty feet below us. He wished to regain it, but I

offered to supply its place, if he thought the descent too dangerous. He

said he would make the trial, and parted from me. I thought it useless

to remain idle. A cleft was before me, through which I must pass; so,

pressing my knees and back against its opposite sides, I gradually

worked myself to the top. I descended the other face of the rock, and

then, through a second ragged fissure, to the summit of another

pinnacle. The highest point of the mountain was now at hand, separated

from me merely by a short saddle, carved by weathering out of the crest

of the mountain. I could hear Lauener clattering after me, through the

rocks behind. I dropped down upon the saddle, crossed it, climbed the

opposite cliff, and "_die hoechste Spitze_" of Monte Rosa was won.

[Sidenote: GLOOM ON THE SUMMIT. 1858.]

Lauener joined me immediately, and we mutually congratulated each other

on the success of the ascent. The residue of the bread and meat was

produced, and a bottle of tea was also appealed to. Mixed with a little

cognac, Lauener declared that he had never tasted anything like it. Snow

fell thickly at intervals, and the obscurity was very great;

occasionally this would lighten and permit the sun to shed a ghastly

dilute light upon us through the gleaming vapour. I put my

boiling-water apparatus in order, and fixed it in a corner behind a

ledge; the shelter was, however, insufficient, so I placed my hat above

the vessel. The boiling point was 184.92 deg. Fahr., the ledge on which the

instrument stood being 5 feet below the highest point of the mountain.

The ascent from the Riffel hotel occupied us about seven hours, nearly

two of which were spent upon the kamm and crest. Neither of us felt in

the least degree fatigued; I, indeed, felt so fresh, that had another

Monte Rosa been planted on the first, I should have continued the climb

without hesitation, and with strong hopes of reaching the top. I

experienced no trace of mountain sickness, lassitude, shortness of

breath, heart-beat, or headache; nevertheless the summit of Monte Rosa

is 15,284 feet high, being less than 500 feet lower than Mont Blanc. It

is, I think, perfectly certain, that the rarefaction of the air at this

height is not sufficient of itself to produce the symptoms referred to;

physical exertion must be superadded.

[Sidenote: "FROZEN FLOWERS." 1858.]

After a few fitful efforts to dispel the gloom, the sun resigned the

dominion to the dense fog and the descending snow, which now prevented

our seeing more than 15 or 20 paces in any direction. The temperature of

the crags at the summit, which had been shone upon by the unclouded sun

during the earlier portion of the day, was 60 deg. Fahr.; hence the snow

melted instantly wherever it came in contact with the rock. But some of

it fell upon my felt hat, which had been placed to shelter the

boiling-water apparatus, and this presented the most remarkable and

beautiful appearance. The fall of snow was in fact a shower of frozen

flowers. All of them were six-leaved; some of the leaves threw out

lateral ribs like ferns, some were rounded, others arrowy and serrated,

some were close, others reticulated, but there was no deviation from the

six-leaved type. Nature seemed determined to make us some compensation

for the loss of all prospect, and thus showered down upon us those

lovely blossoms of the frost; and had a spirit of the mountain inquired

my choice, the view, or the frozen flowers, I should have hesitated

before giving up that exquisite vegetation. It was wonderful to think

of, as well as beautiful to behold. Let us imagine the eye gifted with a

microscopic power sufficient to enable it to see the molecules which

composed these starry crystals; to observe the solid nucleus formed and

floating in the air; to see it drawing towards it its allied atoms, and

these arranging themselves as if they moved to music, and ended by

rendering that music concrete. Surely such an exhibition of power, such

an apparent demonstration of a resident intelligence in what we are

accustomed to call "brute matter," would appear perfectly miraculous.

And yet the reality would, if we could see it, transcend the fancy. If

the Houses of Parliament were built up by the forces resident in their

own bricks and lithologic blocks, and without the aid of hodman or

mason, there would be nothing intrinsically more wonderful in the

process than in the molecular architecture which delighted us upon the

summit of Monte Rosa.

[Sidenote: STARTLING AVALANCHE. 1858.]

Twice or thrice had my guide warned me that we must think of descending,

for the snow continued to fall heavily, and the loss of our track would

be attended with imminent peril. We therefore packed up, and clambered

downward among the crags of the summit. We soon left these behind us,

and as we stood once more upon the kamm, looking into the gloom beneath,

an avalanche let loose from the side of an adjacent mountain shook the

air with its thunder. We could not see it, could form no estimate of its

distance, could only hear its roar, which coming to us through the

darkness, had an undefinable element of horror in it. Lauener remarked,

"I never hear those things without a shudder; the memory of my brother

comes back to me at the same time." His brother, who was the best

climber in the Oberland, had been literally broken to fragments by an

avalanche on the slopes of the Jungfrau.

We had been separate coming up, each having trusted to himself, but the

descent was more perilous, because it is more difficult to fix the heel

of the boot than the toe securely in the ice. Lauener was furnished with

a rope, which he now tied round my waist, and forming a noose at the

other end, he slipped it over his arm. This to me was a new mode of

attachment. Hitherto my guides in dangerous places had tied the ropes

round _their_ waists also. Simond had done it on Mont Blanc, and Bennen

on the Finsteraarhorn, proving thus their willingness to share my fate

whatever that might be. But here Lauener had the power of sending me

adrift at any moment, should his own life be imperilled. I told him that

his mode of attachment was new to me, but he assured me that it would

give him more power in case of accident. I did not see this at the time;

but neither did I insist on his attaching himself in the usual way. It

could neither be called anger nor pride, but a warm flush ran through me

as I remarked, that I should take good care not to test his power of

holding me. I believe I wronged my guide by the supposition that he made

the arrangement with reference to his own safety, for all I saw of him

afterwards proved that he would at any time have risked his life to save

mine. The flush however did me good, by displacing every trace of

anxiety, and the rope, I confess, was also a source of some comfort to

me. We descended the kamm, I going first. "Secure your footing before

you move," was my guide's constant exhortation, "and make your staff

firm at each step." We were sometimes quite close upon the rim of the

kamm on the Lyskamm side, and we also followed the depressions which

marked our track along the cornice. This I now tried intentionally, and

drove the handle of my axe through it once or twice. At two places in

descending we were upon the solid ice, and these were some of the

steepest portions of the kamm. They were undoubtedly perilous, and the

utmost caution was necessary in fixing the staff and securing the

footing. These however once past, we felt that the chief danger was

over. We reached the termination of the edge, and although the snow

continued to fall heavily, and obscure everything, we knew that our

progress afterwards was secure. There was pleasure in this feeling; it

was an agreeable variation of that grim mental tension to which I had

been previously wound up, but which in itself was by no means

disagreeable.

[Sidenote: SPLENDID BLUE OF THE SNOW. 1858.]

[Sidenote: STIFLING HEAT. 1858.]

I have already noticed the colour of the fresh snow upon the summit of

the Stelvio pass. Since I observed it there it has been my custom to pay

some attention to this point at all great elevations. This morning, as I

ascended Monte Rosa, I often examined the holes made in the snow by our

batons, but the light which issued from them was scarcely perceptibly

blue. Now, however, a deep layer of fresh snow overspread the mountain,

and the effect was magnificent. Along the kamm I was continually

surprised and delighted by the blue gleams which issued from the broken

or perforated stratum of new snow; each hole made by the staff was

filled with a light as pure, and nearly as deep, as that of the

unclouded firmament. When we reached the bottom of the kamm, Lauener

came to the front, and tramped before me. As his feet rose out of the

snow, and shook the latter off in fragments, sudden and wonderful gleams

of blue light flashed from them. Doubtless the blue of the sky has much

to do with mountain colouring, but in the present instance not only was

there no blue sky, but the air was so thick with fog and descending

snow-flakes, that we could not see twenty yards in advance of us. A

thick fog, which wrapped the mountain quite closely, now added its gloom

to the obscurity caused by the falling snow. Before we reached the base

of the mountain the fog became thin, and the sun shone through it. There

was not a breath of air stirring, and, though we stood ankle-deep in

snow, the heat surpassed anything of the kind I had ever felt: it was

the dead suffocating warmth of the interior of an oven, which

encompassed us on all sides, and from which there seemed no escape. Our

own motion through the air, however, cooled us considerably. We found

the snow-bridges softer than in the morning, and consequently needing

more caution; but we encountered no real difficulty among them. Indeed

it is amusing to observe the indifference with which a snow-roof is

often broken through, and a traveller immersed to the waist in the jaws

of a fissure. The effort at recovery is instantaneous; half

instinctively hands and knees are driven into the snow, and rescue is

immediate. Fair glacier work was now before us; after which we reached

the opposite mountain-slope, which we ascended, and then went down the

flank of the Riffelberg to our hotel. The excursion occupied us eleven

and a half hours.

FOOTNOTES:

[A] My staff was always the handle of an axe an inch or two longer than

an ordinary walking-stick.

(19.)

On the afternoon of the 11th I made an attempt alone to ascend the

Riffelhorn, and attained a considerable height; but I attacked it from

the wrong side, and the fading light forced me to retreat. I found some

agreeable people at the hotel on my return. One clergyman especially,

with a clear complexion, good digestion, and bad lungs--of free, hearty,

and genial manner--made himself extremely pleasant to us all. He

appeared to bubble over with enjoyment, and with him and others on the

morning of the 13th I walked to the Goerner Grat, as it lay on the way to

my work. We had a glorious prospect from the summit: indeed the

assemblage of mountains, snow, and ice, here within view is perhaps

without a rival in the world.[A] I shouldered my axe, and saying

"good-bye" moved away from my companions.

"Are you going?" exclaimed the clergyman. "Give me one grasp of your

hand before we part."

This was the signal for a grasp all round; and the hearty human kindness

which thus showed itself contributed that day to make my work pleasant

to me.

[Sidenote: A DIFFICULT DESCENT. 1858.]

We proceeded along the ridge of the Rothe Kumme to a point which

commanded a fine view of the glacier. The ice had been over these

heights in ages past, for, although lichens covered the surfaces of the

old rocks, they did not disguise the grooves and scratchings. The

surface of the glacier was now about a thousand feet below us, and this

it was our desire to attain. To reach it we had to descend a succession

of precipices, which in general were weathered and rugged, but here and

there, where the rock was durable, were fluted and grooved. Once or

twice indeed we had nothing to cling to but the little ridges thus

formed. We had to squeeze ourselves through narrow fissures, and often

to get round overhanging ledges, where our main trust was in our feet,

but where these had only ledges an inch or so in width to rest upon.

These cases were to me the most unpleasant of all, for they compelled

the arms to take a position which, if the footing gave way, would

necessitate a _wrench_, for which I entertain considerable abhorrence.

We came at length to a gorge by which the mountain is rent from top to

bottom, and into which we endeavoured to descend. We worked along its

rim for a time, but found its smooth faces too deep. We retreated;

Lauener struck into another track, and while he tested it I sat down

near some grass tufts, which flourished on one of the ledges, and found

the temperature to be as follows:--

Temperature of rock 42 deg. C.

Of air an inch above the rock 32

Of air a foot from rock 22

Of grass 25

The first of these numbers does not fairly represent the temperature of

the rock, as the thermometer could be in contact with it only at one

side at a time. It was differences such as these between grass and

stone, producing a mixed atmosphere of different densities, that

weakened the sound of the falls of the Orinoco, as observed and

explained by Humboldt.

[Sidenote: SINGULAR ICE-CAVE. 1858.]

By a process of "trial and error" we at length reached the ice, after

two hours had been spent in the effort to disentangle ourselves from the

crags. The glacier is forcibly thrust at this place against the

projecting base of the mountain, and the structure of the ice

correspondingly developed. Crevasses also intersect the ice, and the

blue veins cross them at right angles. I ascended the glacier to a

region where the ice was compressed and greatly contorted, and thought

that in some cases I could see the veins crossing the lines of

stratification. Once my guide drew my attention to what he called "_ein

sonderbares Loch_." On one of the slopes an archway was formed which

appeared to lead into the body of the glacier. We entered it, and

explored the cavern to its end. The walls were of transparent blue ice,

singularly free from air-bubbles; but where the roof of the cavern was

thin enough to allow the sun to shine feebly through it, the transmitted

light was of a pink colour. My guide expressed himself surprised at

"_den roethlichen Schein_." At one place a plate of ice had been placed

like a ceiling across the cavern; but owing to lateral squeezing it had

been broken so as to form a V. I found some air-bubbles in this ice, and

in all cases they were associated with blebs of water. A portion of the

"ceiling," indeed, was very full of bubbles, and was at some places

reduced, by internal liquefaction, to a mere skeleton of ice, with

water-cells between its walls.

[Sidenote: STRUCTURE AND STRATA. 1858.]

High up the glacier (towards the old Weissthor) the horizontal

stratification is everywhere beautifully shown. I drew my guide's

attention to it, and he made the remark that the perfection of the lower

ice was due to the pressure of the layers above it. "The snow by degrees

compressed itself to glacier." As we approached one of the tributaries

on the Monte Rosa side, where great pressure came into play, the

stratification appeared to yield and the true structure to cross it at

those places where it had yielded most. As the place of greatest

pressure was approached, the bedding disappeared more and more, and a

clear vertical structure was finally revealed.

FOOTNOTES:

[A] In 1858 Mr. E. W. Cooke made a pencil-sketch of this splendid

panorama, which is the best and truest that I have yet seen.

THE GOeRNER GRAT AND THE RIFFELHORN. MAGNETIC PHENOMENA.

(20.)

At an early hour on Saturday, the 14th of August, I heard the servant

exclaim, "_Das Wetter ist wunderschoen!_" which good news caused me to

spring from my bed and prepare to meet the morn. The range of summits at

the opposite side of the valley of St. Nicholas was at first quite

clear, but as the sun ascended light cumuli formed round them,

increasing in density up to a certain point; below these clouds the air

of the valley was transparent; above them the air of heaven was still

more so; and thus they swung midway between heaven and earth, ranging

themselves in a level line along the necks of the mountains.

[Sidenote: GENERATION OF CLOUDS. 1858.]

It might be supposed that the presence of the sun heating the air would

tend to keep it more transparent, by increasing its capacity to dissolve

all visible cloud; and this indeed is the true action of the sun. But it

is not the only action. His rays, as he climbed the eastern heaven, shot

more and more deeply into the valley of St. Nicholas, the moisture of

which rose as invisible vapour, remaining unseen as long as the air

possessed sufficient warmth to keep it in the vaporous state. High up,

however, the cold crags which had lost their heat by radiation the night

before, acted like condensers upon the ascending vapour, and caused it

to curdle into visible fog. The current, however, continued ascensional,

and the clouds were slowly lifted above the tallest peaks, where they

arranged themselves in fantastic forms, shifting and changing shape as

they gradually melted away. One peak stood like a field-officer with

his cap raised above his head, others sent straggling cloud-balloons

upwards; but on watching these outliers they were gradually seen to

disappear. At first they shone like snow in the sunlight, but as they

became more attenuated they changed colour, passing through a dull red

to a dusky purple hue, until finally they left no trace of their

existence.

[Sidenote: THE ROCKS WARMED. 1858.]

[Sidenote: SCENE FROM THE GOeRNER GRAT. 1858.]

As the day advanced, warming the rocks, the clouds wholly disappeared,

and a hyaline air formed the setting of both glaciers and mountains. I

climbed to the Goerner Grat to obtain a general view of the surrounding

scene. Looking towards the origin of the Goerner glacier the view was

bounded by a wide col, upon which stood two lovely rounded eminences

enamelled with snow of perfect purity. They shone like burnished silver

in the sunlight, as if their surfaces had been melted and recongealed to

frosted mirrors from which the rays were flung. To the right of these

were the bounding crags of Monte Rosa, and then the body of the mountain

itself, with its crest of crag and coat of snows. To the right of Monte

Rosa, and almost rivalling it in height, was the vast mass of the

Lyskamm, a rough and craggy mountain, to whose ledges clings the snow

which cannot grasp its steeper walls, sometimes leaning over them in

impending precipices, which often break, and send wild avalanches into

the space below. Between the Lyskamm and Monte Rosa lies a large wide

valley into which both mountains pour their snows, forming there the

Western glacier of Monte Rosa[A]--a noble ice stream, which from its

magnitude and permanence deserves to impose its name upon the trunk

glacier. It extends downwards from the col which unites the two

mountains; riven and broken at some places, but at others stretching

white and pure down to its snow-line, where the true glacier emerges

from the _neve_. From the rounded shoulders of the Twin Castor a glacier

descends, at first white and shining, then suddenly broken into faults,

fissures, and precipices, which are afterwards repaired, and the glacier

joins that of Monte Rosa before the junction of the latter with the

trunk stream. Next came a boss of rock, with a secondary glacier

clinging to it as if plastered over it, and after it the Schwarze

glacier, bounded on one side by the Breithorn, and on the other by the

Twin Pollux. This glacier is of considerable magnitude. Over its upper

portion rise the Twin eminences, pure and white; then follows a smooth

and undulating space, after passing which the _neve_ is torn up into a

collection of peaks and chasms; these, however, are mended lower down,

and the glacier moves smoothly and calmly to meet its brothers in the

main valley. Next comes the Trifti glacier,[B] embraced on all sides by

the rocky arms of the Breithorn; its mass is not very great, but it

descends in a graceful sweep, and exhibits towards its extremity a

succession of beautiful bands. Afterwards we have the glacier of the

Petit Mont Cervin and those of St. Theodule, which latter are the last

that empty their frozen cargoes into the valley of the Goerner. All the

glaciers here mentioned are welded together to a common trunk which

squeezes itself through the narrow defile at the base of the Riffelhorn.

Soon afterwards the moraines become confused, the glacier drops steeply

to its termination, and ploughs up the meadows in front of it with its

irresistible share.

In a line with the Riffelhorn, and rising over the latter so high as to

make it almost vanish by comparison, was the Titan obelisk of the

Matterhorn, from the base of which the Furgge glacier struggles

downwards. On the other side are the Zmutt glacier, the Schoenbuehl, and

the Hochwang, from the Dent Blanche; the Gabelhorn and Trift glaciers,

from the summits which bear those names. Then come the glaciers of the

Weisshorn. Describing a curve still farther to the right we alight on

the peaks of the Mischabel, dark and craggy precipices from this side,

though from the AEggischhorn they appear as cones of snow. Sweeping by

the Alphubel, the Allaleinhorn, the Rympfischorn, and Strahlhorn--all of

them majestic--we reach the pass of the Weissthor, and the Cima di

Jazzi. This completes the glorious circuit within the observer's view.

[Sidenote: COMPASS AT FAULT. 1858.]

I placed my compass upon a piece of rock to find the bearing of the

Goerner glacier, and was startled at seeing the sun and it at direct

variance. What the sun declared to be north, the needle affirmed to be

south. I at first supposed that the maker had placed the S where the N

ought to be, and _vice versa_. On shifting my position, however, the

needle shifted also, and I saw immediately that the effect was due to

the rock of the Grat. Sometimes one end of the needle _dipped_ forcibly,

at other places it whirled suddenly round, indicating an entire change

of polarity. The rock was evidently to be regarded as an assemblage of

magnets, or as a single magnet full of "consequent points." A distance

of transport not exceeding an inch was, in some cases, sufficient to

reverse the position of the needle. I held the needle between the two

sides of a long fissure a foot wide. The needle set _along_ the fissure

at some places, while at others it set _across_ it. Sometimes a little

jutting knob would attract the north end of the needle, while a closely

adjacent little knob would forcibly repel it, and attract the south end.

One extremity of a ledge three feet long was north magnetic, the other

end was south magnetic, while a neutral point existed midway between the

two, the ledge having therefore the exact polar arrangement of an

ordinary bar-magnet. At the highest point of the rock the action

appeared to be most intense, but I also found an energetic polarity in a

mass at some distance below the summit.

[Sidenote: MAGNETISM OF ROCKS. 1858.]

Remembering that Professor Forbes had noticed some peculiar magnetic

effect upon the Riffelhorn, I resolved to ascend it. Descending from the

Grat we mounted the rocks which form the base of the horn; these are

soft and soapy from the quantity of mica which they contain; the higher

rocks of the horn are, however, very dense and hard. The ascent is a

pleasant bit of mountain practice. We climbed the walls of rock, and

wound round the ledges, seeking the assailable points. I tried the

magnetic condition of the rocks as we ascended, and found it in general

feeble. In other respects the Riffelhorn is a most remarkable mass. The

ice of the Goerner glacier of former ages, which rose hundreds, perhaps

thousands of feet above its present level, encountered the horn in its

descent, and was split by the latter, a diversion of the ice along the

sides of the peak being the consequence. Portions of the vertical walls

of the horn are polished by this action as if they had come from the

hands of a lapidary, and the scratchings are as sharp and definite as if

drawn by points of steel. I never saw scratchings so perfectly

preserved: the finest lines are as clear as the deepest, a consequence

of the great density and durability of the rock. The latter evidently

contains a good deal of iron, and its surface near the summit is of the

rich brown red due to the peroxide of the metal. When we fairly got

among the precipices we left our hatchets behind us, trusting

subsequently to our hands and feet alone. Squeezing, creeping, clinging,

and climbing, in due time we found ourselves upon the summit of the

horn.

[Sidenote: ASCENT OF THE RIFFELHORN. 1858.]

A pile of stones had been erected near the point where we gained the

top. I examined the stones of this pile, and found them strongly polar.

The surrounding rocks also showed a violent action, the needle

oscillating quickly, and sometimes twirling swiftly round upon a slight

change of position. The fragments of rock scattered about were also

polar. Long ledges showed north magnetism for a considerable length, and

again for an equal length south magnetism. Two parallel masses separated

from each other by a fissure, showed the same magnetic distribution.

While I was engaged at one end of the horn, Lauener wandered to the

other, on which stood two or three _hommes de pierres_. He was about

disturbing some of the stones, when a yell from me surprised him. In

fact, the thought had occurred to me that the magnetism of the horn had

been developed by lightning striking upon it, and my desire was to

examine those points which were most exposed to the discharge of the

atmospheric electricity; hence my shout to my guide to let the stones

alone. I worked towards the other end of the horn, examining the rocks

in my way. Two weathered prominences, which seemed very likely

recipients of the lightning, acted violently upon the needle. I

sometimes descended a little way, and found that among the rocks below

the summit the action was greatly enfeebled. On reaching another very

prominent point, I found its extremity all north polar, but at a little

distance was a cluster of consequent points, among which the transport

of a few inches was sufficient to turn the needle round and round.

[Sidenote: MAGNETISM OF THE HORN. 1858.]

The piles of stone at the Zermatt end of the horn did not seem so

strongly polar as the pile at the other end, which was higher; still a

strong polar action was manifested at many points of the surrounding

rocks. Having completed the examination of the summit, I descended the

horn, and examined its magnetic condition as I went along. It seemed to

me that the jutting prominences always exhibited the strongest action. I

do not indeed remember any case in which a strong action did not

exhibit itself at the ends of the terraces which constitute the horn. In

all cases, however, the rock acted as a number of magnets huddled

confusedly together, and not as if its entire mass was endowed with

magnetism of one kind.

[Illustration: Fig. 8. Magnetic Boulder of the Riffelhorn.]

On the evening of the same day I examined the lower spur of the

Riffelhorn. Amid its fissures and gullies one feels as if wandering

through the ruins of a vast castle or fortification; the precipices are

so like walls, and the scratching and polishing so like what might be

done by the hands of man. I found evidences of strong polar action in

some of the rocks low down. In the same continuous mass the action would

sometimes exhibit itself over an area of small extent, while the

remainder of the rock showed no appreciable action. Some of the boulders

cast down from the summit exhibited a strong and varied polarity. Fig. 8

is a sketch of one of these; the barbed end of each arrow represents the

north end of the needle, which assumed the various positions shown in

the figure. Midway down the spur I lighted upon a transverse wall of

rock, which formed in earlier ages the boundary of a lateral outlet of

the Goerner glacier. It was red and hard, weathered rough at some places,

and polished smooth at others. The lines were drawn finely upon it, but

its outer surface appeared to be peeling off like a crust; the polished

layer rested upon the rock like a kind of enamel. The action of the

glacier appeared to resemble that of the break of a locomotive upon

rails, both being cases of exfoliation brought about by pressure and

friction. This wall measured twenty-eight yards across, and one end of

it, for a distance of ten or twelve yards, was all north polar; the

other end for a similar distance was south polar, but there was a pair

of consequent points at its centre.

[Sidenote: THE MAGNETIC FORCE. 1868.]

To meet the case of my young readers, I will here say a few words about

the magnetic force. The common magnetic needle points nearly north and

south; and if a bit of iron be brought near to either end of the needle,

they will mutually attract each other. A piece of lead will not show

this effect, nor will copper, gold, nor silver. Iron, in fact, is a

magnetic metal, which the others are not. It is to be particularly

observed, that the bit of iron attracts _both ends_ of the needle when

it is presented to them in succession; and if a common steel sewing

needle be substituted for the iron it will be seen that it also has the

power of attracting both ends of the magnetic needle. But if the needle

be rubbed once or twice along one end of a magnet, it will be found that

one of its ends will afterwards _repel_ a certain end of the magnetic

needle and attract the other. By rubbing the needle on the magnet, we

thus develop both attraction and repulsion, and this double action of

the magnetic force is called its _polarity_; thus the steel which was at

first simply _magnetic_, is now magnetic and _polar_.

It is the aim of persons making magnets, that each magnet should have

but _two_ poles, at its two ends; it is, however, easy to develop in the

same piece of steel several pairs or poles; and if the magnetization be

irregular, this is sometimes done when we wish to avoid it. These

irregular poles are called _consequent points_.

Now I want my young reader to understand that it is not only because the

rocks of the Goerner Grat and Riffelhorn contain iron, that they exhibit

the action which I have described. They are not only magnetic, as common

iron is, but, like the magnetized steel needle, they are magnetic and

polar. And these poles are irregularly distributed like the "consequent

points" to which I have referred, and this is the reason why I have used

the term.

[Sidenote: BEARINGS FROM THE RIFFELHORN. 1858.]

Professor Forbes, as I have already stated, was the first to notice the

effect of the Riffelhorn upon the magnetic needle, but he seems to have

supposed that the entire mass of the mountain exercised "a local

attraction" upon the needle; (upon which end he does not say). To enable

future observers to allow for this attraction, he took the bearing of

several of the surrounding mountains from the Riffelhorn; but it is very

probable that had he changed his position a few inches, and perfectly

certain had he changed it a few yards, he would have found a set of

bearings totally different from those which he has recorded. The close

proximity and irregular distribution of its consequent points would

prevent the Riffelhorn from exerting any appreciable influence on _a

distant needle_, as in this case the local poles would effectually

neutralize each other.

FOOTNOTES:

[A] Now called, in the Federal map, the 'Grenz glacier.'--L. C. T.

[B] I take this name from Studer's map. Sometimes, however, I have

called it the "Breithorn glacier."

(21.)

[Sidenote: MONT CERVIN AS CLOUD-MAKER. 1858.]

On the morning of the 15th the Riffelberg was swathed in a dense fog,

through which heavy rain showered incessantly. Towards one o'clock the

continuity of the gray mass was broken, and sky-gleams of the deepest

blue were seen through its apertures; these would close up again, and

others open elsewhere, as if the fog were fighting for existence with

the sun behind it. The sun, however, triumphed, the mountains came more

and more into view, and finally the entire air was swept clear. I went

up to the Goerner Grat in the afternoon, and examined more closely the

magnetism of its rocks; here, as on the Riffelhorn, I found it most

pronounced at the jutting prominences of the Grat. Can it be that the

superior exposure is more favourable to the formation of the magnetic

oxide of iron? I secured a number of fragments, which I still possess,

and which act forcibly upon a magnetic needle. The sun was near the

western horizon, and I remained alone upon the Grat to see his last

beams illuminate the mountains, which, with one exception, were without

a trace of cloud. This exception was the Matterhorn, the appearance of

which was extremely instructive. The obelisk appeared to be divided in

two halves by a vertical line drawn from its summit half way down, to

the windward of which we had the bare cliffs of the mountain; and to the

left of it a cloud which appeared to cling tenaciously to the rocks. In

reality, however, there was no clinging; the condensed vapour

incessantly got away, but it was ever renewed, and thus a river of cloud

had been sent from the mountain over the valley of Aosta. The wind in

fact blew lightly up the valley of St. Nicholas charged with moisture,

and when the air that held it rubbed against the cold cone of the

Matterhorn the vapour was chilled and precipitated in his lee. The

summit seemed to smoke sometimes like a burning mountain; for

immediately after its generation, the fog was drawn away in long

filaments by the wind. As the sun sank lower the ruddiness of his light

augmented, until these filaments resembled streamers of flame. The sun

sank deeper, the light was gradually withdrawn, and where it had

entirely vanished it left the mountain like a desolate old man whose

"hoary hair

Stream'd like a meteor in the troubled air."

For a moment after the sun had disappeared the scene was amazingly

grand. The distant west was ruddy, copious gray smoke-wreaths were

wafted from the mountains, while high overhead, in an atmospheric region

which seemed perfectly motionless, floated a broad thin cloud, dyed with

the richest iridescences. The colours were of the same character as

those which I had seen upon the Aletschhorn, being due to interference,

and in point of splendour and variety far exceeded anything ever

produced by the mere coloured light of the setting sun.

[Sidenote: CELLS IN THE ICE. 1858.]

On the 16th I was early upon the glacier. It had frozen hard during the

night, and the partially liberated streams flowed, in many cases, over

their own ice. I took some clear plates from under the water, and found

in them numerous liquid cells, each associated with an air-bubble or a

vacuous spot. The most common shape of the cells was a regular hexagon,

but there were all forms between the perfect hexagon and the perfect

circle. Many cells had also crimped borders, intimating that their

primitive form was that of a flower with six leaves. A plate taken from

ice which was defended from the sunbeams by the shadow of a rock had no

such cells; so that those that I observed were probably due to solar

radiation.

My first aim was to examine the structure of the Goernerhorn glacier,[A]

which descends the breast of Monte Rosa until it is abruptly cut off by

the great Western glacier of the mountain.[B] Between them is a moraine

which is at once terminal as regards the former, and lateral as regards

the latter. The ice is veined vertically along the moraine, the

direction of the structure being parallel to the latter. I ascended the

glacier, and found, as I retreated from the place where the thrust was

most violent, that the structure became more feeble. From the glacier I

passed to the rocks called "_auf der Platte_," so as to obtain a general

view of its terminal portion. The gradual perfecting of the structure as

the region of pressure was approached was very manifest: the ice at the

end seemed to wrinkle up in obedience to the pressure, the structural

furrows, from being scarcely visible, became more and more decided, and

the lamination underneath correspondingly pronounced, until it finally

attained a state of great perfection.

[Sidenote: STRUCTURE OF THE ICE. 1858.]

I now quitted the rocks and walked straight across the Western glacier

of Monte Rosa to its centre, where I found the structure scarcely

visible. I next faced the Goerner Grat, and walked down the glacier

towards the moraine which divides it from the Goerner glacier. The

mechanical conditions of the ice here are quite evident; each step

brought me to a place of greater pressure, and also to a place of more

highly developed structure, until finally near to the moraine itself,

and running parallel to it, a magnificent lamination was developed. Here

the superficial groovings could be traced to great distances, and beside

the moraine were boulders poised on pedestals of ice through which the

blue veins ran. At some places the ice had been weathered into laminae

not more than a line in thickness.

I now recrossed the Monte Rosa glacier to its junction with the

Schwartze glacier, which descends between the Twins and Breithorn. The

structure of the Monte Rosa glacier is here far less pronounced than at

the other side, and the pressure which it endures is also manifestly

less; the structure of the Schwartze glacier is fairly developed, being

here parallel to its moraine. The cliffs of the Breithorn are much

exposed to weathering action, and boulders are copiously showered down

upon the adjacent ice. Between the Schwartze glacier and the glacier

which descends from the breast of the Breithorn itself these blocks ride

upon a spine of ice, and form a moraine of grand proportions. From it a

fine view of the glacier is attainable, and the gradual development of

its structure as the region of maximum pressure is approached is very

plain. A number of gracefully curved undulations sweep across the

Breithorn glacier, which are squeezed more closely together as the

moraine is approached. All the glaciers that descend from the flanking

mountains of the Goerner valley are suddenly turned aside where they meet

the great trunk stream, and are reduced by the pressure to narrow

stripes of ice separated from each other by parallel moraines.

[Sidenote: TRIBUTARIES EXPLORED. 1858.]

I ascended the Breithorn glacier to the base of an ice-fall, on one side

of which I found large crumples produced by the pressure, the veined

structure being developed at right angles to the direction of the

latter. No such structure was visible above this place. The crumples

were cut by fissures, perpendicular to which the blue veins ran. I now

quitted the glacier, and clambered up the adjacent alp, from which a

fine view of the general surface was attainable. As in the case of the

Goernerhorn glacier, the gradual perfecting of the structure was very

manifest; the dirt, which first irregularly scattered over the surface,

gradually assumed a striated appearance, and became more and more

decided as the moraine was approached. Descending from the alp, I

endeavoured to measure some of the undulations; proceeding afterwards to

the junction of the Breithorn glacier with that of St. Theodule. The end

of the latter appears to be crumpled by its thrust against the former,

and the moraine between them, instead of being raised, runs along a

hollow which is flanked by the crumples on either side. The Breithorn

glacier became more and more attenuated, until finally it actually

vanished under its own moraines. On the sides of the crevasses, by which

the Theodule glacier is here intersected, I thought I could plainly see

two systems of veins cutting each other at an angle of fifteen or twenty

degrees. Reaching the Goerner glacier, at a place where its dislocation

was very great, I proceeded down it past the Riffelhorn, to a point

where it seemed possible to scale the opposite mountain wall. Here I

crossed the glacier, treading with the utmost caution along the combs of

ice, and winding through the entanglement of crevasses until the spur of

the Riffelhorn was reached; this I climbed to its summit, and afterwards

crossed the green alp to our hotel.

[Sidenote: TEMPTATION. 1858.]

The foregoing good day's work was rewarded by a sound sleep at night.

The tourists were called in succession next morning, but after each call

I instantly subsided into deep slumber, and thus healthily spaced out

the interval of darkness. Day at length dawned and gradually brightened.

I looked at my watch and found it twenty minutes to six. My guide had

been lent to a party of gentlemen who had started at three o'clock for

the summit of Monte Rosa, and he had left with me a porter who undertook

to conduct me to one of the adjacent glaciers. But as I looked from my

window the unspeakable beauty of the morning filled me with a longing to

see the world from the top of Monte Rosa. I was in exceedingly good

condition--could I not reach the summit alone? Trained and indurated as

I had been, I felt that the thing was possible; at all events I could

try, without attempting anything which was not clearly within my power.

FOOTNOTES:

[A] Now called, in the Federal map, the "Monte Rosa glacier." Goernerhorn

is an old local name for the central mass of Monte Rosa.--L. C. T.

[B] _See_ p. 138, footnote.

SECOND ASCENT OF MONTE ROSA, 1858.

(22.)

[Sidenote: A LIGHT SCRIP. 1858.]

Whether my exercise be mental or bodily, I am always most vigorous when

cool. During my student life in Germany, the friends who visited me

always complained of the low temperature of my room, and here among the

Alps it was no uncommon thing for me to wander over the glaciers from

morning till evening in my shirt-sleeves. My object now was to go as

light as possible, and hence I left my coat and neckcloth behind me,

trusting to the sun and my own motion to make good the calorific waste.

After breakfast I poured what remained of my tea into a small glass

bottle, an ordinary demi-bouteille, in fact; the waiter then provided me

with a ham sandwich, and, with my scrip thus frugally furnished, I

thought the heights of Monte Rosa might be won. I had neither brandy nor

wine, but I knew the immense amount of mechanical force represented by

four ounces of bread and ham, and I therefore feared no failure from

lack of nutriment. Indeed, I am inclined to think that both guides and

travellers often impair their vigour and render themselves cowardly and

apathetic by the incessant "refreshing" which they deem it necessary to

indulge in on such occasions.

[Sidenote: THE GUIDE EXPOSTULATES. 1858.]

[Sidenote: THE GUIDE HALTS. 1858.]

The guide whom Lauener intended for me was at the door; I passed him and

desired him to follow me. This he at first refused to do, as he did not

recognise me in my shirt-sleeves; but his companions set him right, and

he ran after me. I transferred my scrip to his shoulders, and led the

way upward. Once or twice he insinuated that that was not the way to the

Schwarze-See, and was probably perplexed by my inattention. From the

summit of the ridge which bounds the Goerner glacier the whole grand

panorama revealed itself, and on the higher slopes of Monte Rosa--so

high, indeed, as to put all hope of overtaking them, or even coming near

them, out of the question--a row of black dots revealed the company

which had started at three o'clock from the hotel. They had made

remarkably good use of their time, and I was afterwards informed that

the cause of this was the intense cold, which compelled them to keep up

the proper supply of heat by increased exertion. I descended swiftly to

the glacier, and made for the base of Monte Rosa, my guide following at

some distance behind me. One of the streams, produced by superficial

melting, had cut for itself a deep wide channel in the ice; it was not

too wide for a spring, and with the aid of a run I cleared it and went

on. Some minutes afterwards I could hear the voice of my companion

exclaiming, in a tone of expostulation, "No, no, I won't follow you

there." He however made a circuit, and crossed the stream; I waited for

him at the place where the Monte Rosa glacier joins the rock, "_auf der

Platte_," and helped him down the ice-slope. At the summit of these

rocks I again waited for him. He approached me with some excitement of

manner, and said that it now appeared plain to him that I intended to

ascend Monte Rosa, but that he would not go with me. I asked him to

accompany me to the summit of the next cliff, which he agreed to do; and

I found him of some service to me. He discovered the faint traces of the

party in advance, and, from his greater experience, could keep them

better in view than I could. We lost them, however, near the base of the

cliff at which we aimed, and I went on, choosing as nearly as I could

remember the route followed by Lauener and myself a week previously,

while my guide took another route, seeking for the traces. The glacier

here is crevassed, and I was among the fissures some distance in advance

of my companion. Fear was manifestly getting the better of him, and he

finally stood still, exclaiming, "No man can pass there." At the same

moment I discovered the trace, and drew his attention to it; he

approached me submissively, said that I was quite right, and declared

his willingness to go on. We climbed the cliff, and discovered the trace

in the snow above it. Here I transferred the scrip and telescope to my

own shoulders, and gave my companion a cheque for five francs. He

returned, and I went on alone.

The sun and heaven were glorious, but the cold was nevertheless intense,

for it had frozen bitterly the night before. The mountain seemed more

noble and lovely than when I had last ascended it; and as I climbed the

slopes, crossed the shining cols, and rounded the vast snow-bosses of

the mountain, the sense of being alone lent a new interest to the

glorious scene. I followed the track of those who preceded me, which was

that pursued by Lauener and myself a week previously. Once I deviated

from it to obtain a glimpse of Italy over the saddle which stretches

from Monte Rosa to the Lyskamm. Deep below me was the valley, with its

huge and dislocated _neve_, and the slope on which I hung was just

sufficiently steep to keep the attention aroused without creating

anxiety. I prefer such a slope to one on which the thought of danger

cannot be entertained. I become more weary upon a dead level, or in

walking up such a valley as that which stretches between Visp and

Zermatt, than on a steep mountain side. The sense of weariness is often

no index to the expenditure of muscular force: the muscles may be

charged with force, and, if the nervous excitant be feeble, the strength

lies dormant, and we are tired without exertion. But the thought of

peril keeps the mind awake, and spurs the muscles into action; they move

with alacrity and freedom, and the time passes swiftly and pleasantly.

[Sidenote: LEFT ALONE. 1858.]

Occupied with my own thoughts as I ascended, I sometimes unconsciously

went too quickly, and felt the effects of the exertion. I then slackened

my pace, allowing each limb an instant of repose as I drew it out of the

snow, and found that in this way walking became rest. This is an

illustration of the principle which runs throughout nature--to

accomplish physical changes, _time_ is necessary. Different positions of

the limb require different molecular arrangements; and to pass from one

to the other requires time. By lifting the leg slowly and allowing it to

fall forward by its own gravity, a man may get on steadily for several

hours, while a very slight addition to this pace may speedily exhaust

him. Of course the normal pace differs in different persons, but in all

the power of endurance may be vastly augmented by the prudent outlay of

muscular force.

The sun had long shone down upon me with intense fervour, but I now

noticed a strange modification of the light upon the slopes of

snow. I looked upwards, and saw a most gorgeous exhibition of

interference-colours. A light veil of clouds had drawn itself between me

and the sun, and this was flooded with the most brilliant dyes. Orange,

red, green, blue--all the hues produced by diffraction were exhibited in

the utmost splendour. There seemed a tendency to form circular zones of

colour round the sun, but the clouds were not sufficiently uniform to

permit of this, and they were consequently broken into spaces, each

steeped with the colour due to the condition of the cloud at the place.

Three times during my ascent similar veils drew themselves across the

sun, and at each passage the splendid phenomena were renewed. As I

reached the middle of the mountain an avalanche was let loose from the

sides of the Lyskamm; the thunder drew my eyes to the place; I saw the

ice move, but it was only the tail of the avalanche; still the volume of

sound told me that it was a huge one. Suddenly the front of it appeared

from behind a projecting rock, hurling its ice-masses with fury into the

valley, and tossing its rounded clouds of ice-dust high into the

atmosphere. A wild long-drawn sound, multiplied by echoes, now descended

from the heights above me. It struck me at first as a note of

lamentation, and I thought that possibly one of the party which was now

near the summit had gone over the precipice. On listening more

attentively I found that the sound shaped itself into an English

"hurrah!" I was evidently nearing the party, and on looking upwards I

could see them, but still at an immense height above me. The summit

still rose before them, and I therefore thought the cheer premature. A

precipice of ice was now in front of me, around which I wound to the

right, and in a few minutes found myself fairly at the bottom of the

Kamm.

[Sidenote: GIDDINESS ON THE KAMM. 1858.]

[Sidenote: SCRIP LEFT BEHIND. 1858.]

I paused here for a moment, and reflected on the work before me. My head

was clear, my muscles in perfect condition, and I felt just sufficient

fear to render me careful. I faced the Kamm, and went up slowly but

surely, and soon heard the cheer which announced the arrival of the

party at the summit of the mountain. It was a wild, weird, intermittent

sound, swelling or falling as the echoes reinforced or enfeebled it. In

getting through the rocks which protrude from the snow at the base of

the last spur of the mountain, I once had occasion to stoop my head,

and, on suddenly raising it, my eyes swam as they rested on the unbroken

slope of snow at my left. The sensation was akin to giddiness, but I

believe it was chiefly due to the absence of any object upon the snow

upon which I could converge the axes of my eyes. Up to this point I had

eaten nothing. I now unloosed my scrip, and had two mouthfuls of

sandwich and nearly the whole of the tea that remained. I found here

that my load, light as it was, impeded me. When fine balancing is

necessary, the presence of a very light load, to which one is

unaccustomed, may introduce an element of danger, and for this reason I

here left the residue of my tea and sandwich behind me. A long, long

edge was now in front of me, sloping steeply upwards. As I commenced the

ascent of this, the foremost of those whose cheer had reached me from

the summit some time previously, appeared upon the top of the edge, and

the whole party was seen immediately afterwards dangling on the Kamm. We

mutually approached each other. Peter Bohren, a well-known Oberland

guide, came first, and after him came the gentleman in his immediate

charge. Then came other guides with other gentlemen, and last of all my

guide, Lauener, with his strong right arm round the youngest of the

party. We met where a rock protruded through the snow. The cold smote my

naked throat bitterly, so to protect it I borrowed a handkerchief from

Lauener, bade my new acquaintances good bye, and proceeded upwards. I

was soon at the place where the snow-ridge joins the rocks which

constitute the crest of the mountain; through these my way lay, every

step I took augmenting my distance from all life, and increasing my

sense of solitude. I went up and down the cliffs as before, round

ledges, through fissures, along edges of rock, over the last deep and

rugged indentation, and up the rocks at its opposite side, to the

summit.

[Sidenote: ALONE ON THE SUMMIT. 1858.]

[Sidenote: THE AXE SLIPS. 1858.]

A world of clouds and mountains lay beneath me. Switzerland, with its

pomp of summits, was clear and grand; Italy was also grand, but more

than half obscured. Dark cumulus and dark crag vied in savagery, while

at other places white snows and white clouds held equal rivalry. The

scooped valleys of Monte Rosa itself were magnificent, all gleaming in

the bright sunlight--tossed and torn at intervals, and sending from

their rents and walls the magical blue of the ice. Ponderous _neves_ lay

upon the mountains, apparently motionless, but suggesting

motion--sluggish, but indicating irresistible dynamic energy, which

moved them slowly to their doom in the warmer valleys below. I thought

of my position: it was the first time that a man had stood alone upon

that wild peak, and were the imagination let loose amid the surrounding

agencies, and permitted to dwell upon the perils which separated the

climber from his kind, I dare say curious feelings might have been

engendered. But I was prompt to quell all thoughts which might lessen my

strength, or interfere with the calm application of it. Once indeed an

accident made me shudder. While taking the cork from a bottle which is

deposited on the top, and which contains the names of those who have

ascended the mountain, my axe slipped out of my hand, and slid some

thirty feet away from me. The thought of losing it made my flesh creep,

for without it descent would be utterly impossible. I regained it, and

looked upon it with an affection which might be bestowed upon a living

thing, for it was literally my staff of life under the circumstances.

One look more over the cloud-capped mountains of Italy, and I then

turned my back upon them, and commenced the descent.

The brown crags seemed to look at me with a kind of friendly

recognition, and, with a surer and firmer feeling than I possessed on

ascending, I swung myself from crag to crag and from ledge to ledge with

a velocity which surprised myself. I reached the summit of the Kamm, and

saw the party which I had passed an hour and a half before, emerging

from one of the hollows of the mountain; they had escaped from the edge

which now lay between them and me. The thought of the possible loss of

my axe at the summit was here forcibly revived, for without it I dared

not take a single step. My first care was to anchor it firmly in the

snow, so as to enable it to bear at times nearly the whole weight of my

body. In some places, however, the anchor had but a loose hold; the

"cornice" to which I have already referred became granular, and the

handle of the axe went through it up to the head, still, however,

remaining loose. Some amount of trust had thus to be withdrawn from the

staff and placed in the limbs. A curious mixture of carelessness and

anxiety sometimes fills the mind on such occasions. I often caught

myself humming a verse of a frivolous song, but this was mechanical, and

the substratum of a man's feelings under such circumstances is real

earnestness. The precipice to my left was a continual preacher of

caution, and the slope to my right was hardly less impressive. I looked

down the former but rarely, and sometimes descended for a considerable

time without looking beyond my own footsteps. The power of a thought was

illustrated on one of these occasions. I had descended with extreme

slowness and caution for some time, when looking over the edge of the

cornice I saw a row of pointed rocks at some distance below me. These I

felt must receive me if I slipped over, and I thought how before

reaching them I might so break my fall as to arrive at them unkilled.

This thought enabled me to double my speed, and as long as the spiky

barrier ran parallel to my track I held my staff in one hand, and

contented myself with a slight pressure upon it.

I came at length to a place where the edge was solid ice, which rose to

the level of the cornice, the latter appearing as if merely stuck

against it. A groove ran between the ice and snow, and along this groove

I marched until the cornice became unsafe, and I had to betake myself to

the ice. The place was really perilous, but, encouraging myself by the

reflection that it would not last long, I carefully and deliberately

hewed steps, causing them to dip a little inward, so as to afford a

purchase for the heel of my boot, never forsaking one till the next was

ready, and never wielding my hatchet until my balance was secured. I was

soon at the bottom of the Kamm, fairly out of danger, and full of glad

vigour I bore swiftly down upon the party in advance of me. It was an

easy task to me to fuse myself amongst them as if I had been an old

acquaintance, and we joyfully slid, galloped, and rolled together down

the residue of the mountain.

[Sidenote: ACCIDENT ON THE KAMM. 1858.]

The only exception was the young gentleman in Lauener's care. A day or

two previously he had, I believe, injured himself in crossing the Gemmi,

and long before he reached the summit of Monte Rosa his knee swelled,

and he walked with great difficulty. But he persisted in ascending, and

Lauener, seeing his great courage, thought it a pity to leave him

behind. I have stated that a portion of the Kamm was solid ice. On

descending this, Mr. F.'s footing gave way, and he slipped forward.

Lauener was forced to accompany him, for the place was too steep and

slippery to permit of their motion being checked. Both were on the point

of going over the Lyskamm side of the mountain, where they would have

indubitably been dashed to pieces. "There was no escape there," said

Lauener, in describing the incident to me subsequently, "but I saw a

possible rescue at the other side, so I sprang to the right, forcibly

swinging my companion round; but in doing so, the baton tripped me up;

we both fell, and rolled rapidly over each other down the incline. I

knew that some precipices were in advance of us, over which we should

have gone, so, releasing myself from my companion, I threw myself in

front of him, stopped myself with my axe, and thus placed a barrier

before him." After some vain efforts at sliding down the slopes on a

baton, in which practice I was fairly beaten by some of my new friends,

I attached myself to the invalid, and walked with him and Lauener

homewards. Had I gone forward with the foremost of the party, I should

have completed the expedition to the summit and back in a little better

than nine hours.

[Sidenote: DANGER OF CLIMBING ALONE. 1858.]

I think it right to say one earnest word in connexion with this ascent;

and the more so as I believe a notion is growing prevalent that half

what is said and written about the dangers of the Alps is mere humbug.

No doubt exaggeration is not rare, but I would emphatically warn my

readers against acting upon the supposition that it is general. The

dangers of Mont Blanc, Monte Rosa, and other mountains, are real, and,

if not properly provided against, may be terrible. I have been much

accustomed to be alone upon the glaciers, but sometimes, even when a

guide was in front of me, I have felt an extreme longing to have a

second one behind me. Less than two good ones I think an arduous climber

ought not to have; and if climbing without guides were to become

habitual, deplorable consequences would assuredly sooner or later ensue.

(23.)

The 18th of August I spent upon the Furgge glacier at the base of Mont

Cervin, and what it taught me shall be stated in another place. The

evening of this day was signalised by the pleasant acquaintances which

it gave me. It was my intention to cross the Weissthor on the morning of

the 19th, but thunder, lightning, and heavy rain opposed the project,

and with two friends I descended, amid pitiless rain, to Zermatt. Next

day I walked by way of Stalden to Saas, where I made the acquaintance of

Herr Imseng, the Cure, and on the 21st ascended to the Distel Alp. Near

to this place the Allalein glacier pushes its huge terminus right across

the valley and dams up the streams descending from the mountains higher

up, thus giving birth to a dismal lake. At one end of this stands the

Mattmark hotel, which was to be my headquarters for a few days.

[Sidenote: ASCENT OF A BOULDER. 1858.]

I reached the place in good company. Near to the hotel are two

magnificent boulders of green serpentine, which have been lodged there

by one of the lateral glaciers; and two of the ladies desiring to ascend

one of these rocks, a friend and myself helped them to the top. The

thing was accomplished in a very spirited way. Indeed the general

contrast, in regard to energy, between the maidens of the British Isles

and those of the Continent and of America is extraordinary. Surely those

who talk of this country being in its old age overlook the physical

vigour of its sons and daughters. They are strong, but from a

combination of the greatest forces we may obtain a small resultant,

because the forces may act in opposite directions and partly neutralize

each other. Herein, in fact, lies Britain's weakness; it is strength

ill-directed; and is indicative rather of the perversity of young blood

than of the precision of mature years.

[Sidenote: DISMAL QUARTERS. 1858.]

Immediately after this achievement I was forsaken by my friends, and

remained the only visitor in the hotel. A dense gray cloud gradually

filled the entire atmosphere, from which the rain at length began to

gush in torrents. The scene from the windows of the hotel was of the

most dismal character; the rain also came through the roof, and dripped

from the ceiling to the floor. I endeavoured to make a fire, but the air

would not let the smoke of the pine-logs ascend, and the biting of the

hydrocarbons was excruciating to the eyes. On the whole, the cold was

preferable to the smoke. During the night the rain changed to snow, and

on the morning of the 22nd all the mountains were thickly covered. The

gray delta through which a river of many arms ran into the Mattmark See

was hidden; against some of the windows of the _salle a manger_ the snow

was also piled, obscuring more than half their light. I had sent my

guide to Visp, and two women and myself were the only occupants of the

place. It was extremely desolate--I felt, moreover, the chill of Monte

Rosa in my throat, and the conditions were not favourable to the cure of

a cold.

On the 23rd the Allalein glacier was unfit for work; I therefore

ascended to the summit of the Monte Moro, and found the Valaisian side

of the pass in clear sunshine, while impenetrable fog met us on the

Italian side. I examined the colour of the freshly fallen snow; it was

not an ordinary blue, and was even more transparent than the blue of the

firmament. When the snow was broken the light flashed forth; when the

staff was dug into the snow and withdrawn, the blue gleam appeared; when

the staff lay in a hole, although there might be a sufficient space all

round it, the coloured light refused to show itself.

My cough kept me awake on the night of the 23rd, and my cold was worse

next day. I went upon the Allalein glacier, but found myself by no means

so sure a climber as usual. The best guides find that their powers vary;

they are not equally competent on all days. I have heard a celebrated

Chamouni guide assert that a man's _morale_ is different on different

days. The morale in my case had a physical basis, and it probably has so

in all. The Allalein glacier, as I have said, crosses the valley and

abuts against the opposite mountain; here it is forced to turn aside,

and in consequence of the thrust and bending it is crumpled and

crevassed. The wall of the Mattmark See is a fine glacier section:

looked at from a distance, the ridges and fissures appear arranged like

a fan. The structure of the crumpled ice varies from the vertical to the

horizontal, and the ridges are sometimes split _along_ the planes of

structure. The aspect of this portion of the glacier from some of the

adjacent heights is exceedingly interesting.

[Sidenote: THE VAULT OF THE ALLALEIN. 1858.]

On the morning of the 25th I had two hours' clambering over the

mountains before breakfast, and traced the action of ancient glaciers to

a great height. The valley of Saas in this respect rivals that of Hasli;

the flutings and polishings being on the grandest scale. After breakfast

I went to the end of the Allalein glacier, where the Saas Visp river

rushes from it: the vault was exceedingly fine, being composed of

concentric arches of clear blue ice. I spent several hours here

examining the intimate structure of the ice, and found the vacuum disks

which I shall describe at another place, of the greatest service to me.

As at Rosenlaui and elsewhere, they here taught me that the glacier was

composed of an aggregate of small fragments, each of which had a

definite plane of crystallization. Where the ice was partially weathered

the surfaces of division between the fragments could be traced through

the coherent mass, but on crossing these surfaces the direction of the

vacuum disks changed, indicating a similar change of the planes of

crystallization. The blue veins of the glacier went through its

component fragments irrespective of these planes. Sometimes the vacuum

disks were parallel to the veins, sometimes across them, sometimes

oblique to them.