[Illustration: Cover]
[Illustration: “THEY SAW MASSES OF ROCKS, BOULDERS, AND STONES, DART ROUND
THE CORNER.”]
THE ASCENT
OF
THE MATTERHORN
BY
EDWARD WHYMPER
[Illustration: Vignette]
WITH MAPS AND ILLUSTRATIONS
Toil and pleasure, in their natures opposite, are yet linked
together in a kind of necessary connection.—LIVY.
LONDON
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET
1880
_All rights are reserved_
PREFACE.
In the year 1860, shortly before leaving England for a long continental
tour, the late Mr. William Longman requested me to make for him some
sketches of the great Alpine peaks. At this time I had only a literary
acquaintance with mountaineering, and had even not seen—much less set foot
upon—a mountain. Amongst the peaks which were upon my list was Mont
Pelvoux, in Dauphiné. The sketches that were required of it were to
celebrate the triumph of some Englishmen who intended to make its ascent.
They came—they saw—but they did not conquer. By a mere chance I fell in
with a very agreeable Frenchman who accompanied this party, and was
pressed by him to return to the assault. In 1861 we did so, with my friend
Macdonald—and we conquered. This was the origin of my scrambles amongst
the Alps.
The ascent of Mont Pelvoux (including the disagreeables) was a very
delightful scramble. The mountain air did _not_ act as an emetic; the sky
did _not_ look black, instead of blue; nor did I feel tempted to throw
myself over precipices. I hastened to enlarge my experience, and went to
the Matterhorn. I was urged towards Mont Pelvoux by those mysterious
impulses which cause men to peer into the unknown. Not only was this
mountain reputed to be the highest in France, and on that account was
worthy of attention, but it was the dominating point of a most picturesque
district of the greatest interest, which, to this day, remains almost
unexplored! The Matterhorn attracted me simply by its grandeur. It was
considered to be the most thoroughly inaccessible of all mountains, even
by those who ought to have known better. Stimulated to make fresh
exertions by one repulse after another, I returned, year after year, as I
had opportunity, more and more determined to find a way up it, or to
_prove_ it to be really inaccessible.
The chief part of this volume is occupied by the history of these attacks
on the Matterhorn, and the other excursions that are described have all
some connection, more or less remote, with that mountain or with Mont
Pelvoux. All are new excursions (that is, excursions made for the first
time), unless the contrary is pointed out. Some have been passed over very
briefly, and entire ascents or descents have been disposed of in a single
line. Generally speaking, the salient points alone have been dwelt upon,
and the rest has been left to the imagination. This treatment has spared
the reader from much useless repetition.
In endeavouring to make the book of some use to those who may wish to go
mountain-scrambling, whether in the Alps or elsewhere, prominence has been
given to our mistakes and failures; and to some it may seem that our
practice must have been bad if the principles which are laid down are
sound, or that the principles must be unsound if the practice was good.
The principles which are brought under the notice of the reader are,
however, deduced from long experience, which experience had not been
gained at the time that the blunders were perpetrated; and, if it had been
acquired at an earlier date, there would have been fewer failures to
record.
My scrambles amongst the Alps were a sort of apprenticeship in the art of
mountaineering, and they were, for the most part, carried out in the
company of men who were masters of their craft. In any art the learner,
who wishes to do good work, does well to associate himself with master
workmen, and I attribute much of the success which is recorded in this
volume to my having been frequently under the guidance of the best
mountaineers of the time. The hints and observations which are dispersed
throughout the volume are not the result of personal experience only, they
have been frequently derived from professional mountaineers, who have
studied the art from their youth upwards.
Without being unduly discursive in the narrative, it has not been possible
to include in the text all the observations which are desirable for the
general reader, and a certain amount of elementary knowledge has been
pre-supposed, which perhaps some do not possess; and the opportunity is
now taken of making a few remarks which may serve to elucidate those which
follow.
When a man who is not a born mountaineer gets upon the side of a mountain,
he speedily finds out that walking is an art; and very soon wishes that he
could be a quadruped or a centipede, or anything except a biped; but, as
there is a difficulty in satisfying these very natural desires, he
ultimately procures an alpenstock and turns himself into a tripod. This
simple implement is invaluable to the mountaineer, and when he is parted
from it involuntarily (and who has not been?) he is inclined to say, just
as one may remark of other friends, “You were only a stick—a poor
stick—but you were a true friend, and I should like to be in your company
again.”
[Illustration: Point of Alpenstock]
Respecting the size of the alpenstock, let it be remarked that it may be
nearly useless if it be too long or too short. It should always be shorter
than the person who carries it, but it may be any length you like between
three-fifths of your height and your extreme altitude. It should be made
of ash, of the very best quality; and should support your weight upon its
centre when it is suspended at its two ends. Unless shod with an iron
point it can scarcely be termed an alpenstock, and the nature of the point
is of some importance. The kind I prefer is shown in the annexed
illustration. It has a long tang running into the wood, is supported by a
rivetted collar, and its termination is extremely sharp. With a point of
this description steps can be made in ice almost as readily as with an
axe.
A volume might be written upon the use of the alpenstock. Its principal
use is as a third leg, to extend one’s base line; and when the beginner
gets this well into his head he finds the implement of extraordinary
value. In these latter times the pure and simple alpenstock has gone out
of fashion, and mountaineers now almost universally carry a stick with a
point at one end and an axe-head at the other. A moveable axe-head is
still a desideratum. There is a pick-axe made at Birmingham with a
moveable head which is better than any other kind that I have seen, but
the head is too clumsy to be held in the hand, and various improvements
will have to be effected in it before it will be fit for use in
mountaineering. Still, its principle appears to me to be capable of
adaptation, and on that account I have introduced it here.
[Illustration: Birmingham pick-axe with moveable head]
[Illustration: Russian furnace]
After the alpenstock, or axe-alpenstock, it is of most importance for the
mountaineer to supply himself with plenty of good rope. Enough has been
said on this subject in different parts of the narrative, as well as in
regard to tents. Few other articles are _necessary_, though many others
are _desirable_, to carry about, and amongst the most important may be
reckoned some simple means of boiling water and cooking. At considerable
altitudes above the tree-line, it is frequently impossible to carry up
wood enough for a camp-fire, and nothing but spirits of wine can be
employed. The well-known and convenient so-called “Russian furnace” is the
most compact form of spirit lamp that I know, and wonders can be effected
with one that is only three inches in diameter. In conjunction with a set
of tins like those figured here (which are constructed to be used either
with a wood fire or over a spirit lamp), all the cooking can be done that
the Alpine tourist requires. For prolonged expeditions of a serious nature
a more elaborate equipage is necessary; but upon such small ones as are
made in the Alps it would be unnecessarily encumbering yourself to take a
whole _batterie de cuisine_.(1)
[Illustration: Cooking tins]
Before passing on to speak of clothing, a word upon snow-blindness will
not be out of place. Very fine language is sometimes used to express the
fact that persons suffer from their eyes becoming inflamed; and there is
one well-known traveller, at least, who, when referring to snow-blindness,
speaks habitually of the distressing effects which are produced by “the
reverberation of the snow.” Snow-blindness is a malady which touches all
mountain-travellers sooner or later, for it is found impossible in
practice always to protect the eyes with the goggles which are shown
overleaf. In critical situations almost every one removes them. The
beginner should, however, note that at great altitudes it is not safe to
leave the eyes unprotected even on rocks, when the sun is shining
brightly; and upon snow or ice it is indispensable to shade them in some
manner, unless you wish to be placed _hors de combat_ on the next day.
Should you unfortunately find yourself in this predicament through the
intensity of the light, there is no help but in sulphate of zinc and
patience. Of the former material a half-ounce will be sufficient for a
prolonged campaign, as a lotion compounded with two or three grains to an
ounce of water will give relief; but of patience you can hardly lay in too
large a stock, as a single bad day sometimes throws a man on his back for
weeks.(2)
[Illustration: Snow spectacles]
The whole face suffers under the alternation of heat, cold, and glare, and
few mountain-travellers remain long without having their visages blistered
and cracked in all directions. Now, in respect to this matter, prevention
is better than cure; and, though these inconveniences cannot be entirely
escaped, they may, by taking trouble, be deferred for a long time. As a
travelling cap for mountain expeditions, there is scarcely anything better
than the kind of helmet used by Arctic travellers, and with the eyes well
shaded by its projecting peak and covered with the ordinary goggles one
ought not, and will not, suffer much from snow-blindness. I have found,
however, that it does not sufficiently shade the face, and that it shuts
out sound too much when the side-flaps are down; and I consequently adopt
a woollen headpiece, which almost entirely covers or shades the face and
extends well downwards on to the shoulders. One hears sufficiently
distinctly through the interstices of the knitted wool, and they also
permit some ventilation—which the Arctic cap does not. It is a useful
rather than an ornamental article of attire, and strangely affects one’s
appearance.
[Illustration: Arctic cap]
For the most severe weather even this is not sufficient, and a mask must
be added to protect the remainder of the face. You then present the
appearance of the lower woodcut, and are completely disguised. Your most
intimate friends—even your own mother—will disown you, and you are a fit
subject for endless ridicule.
[Illustration: The complete disguise]
The alternations of heat and cold are rapid and severe in all high
mountain ranges, and it is folly to go about too lightly clad. Woollen
gloves ought always to be in the mountaineer’s pocket, for in a single
hour, or less, he may experience a fall in temperature of sixty to eighty
degrees. But in respect to the nature of the clothing there is little to
be said beyond that it should be composed of flannels and woollens.
Upon the important subject of boots much might be written. My friends are
generally surprised to find that I use elastic-side boots whilst
mountaineering, and condemn them under the false impression that they will
not give support to the ankles, and will be pulled off when one is
traversing deep snow. I have invariably used elastic-side boots on my
mountain expeditions in the Alps and elsewhere, and have found that they
give sufficient support to the ankles and never draw off. My Alpine boots
have always been made by Norman—a maker who knows what the requirements
are, and one who will give a good boot if allowed good time.
It is fully as important to have proper nails in the boots as it is to
have good boots. The quantity is frequently overdone, and when there are
too many they are absolutely dangerous. Ice-nails, which may be considered
a variety of crampon, are an abomination. The nails should be neither too
large nor too numerous, and they should be disposed everywhere
irregularly—not symmetrically. They disappear one by one, from time to
time; and the prudent mountaineer continually examines his boots to see
that sufficient numbers are left.(3) A handkerchief tied round the foot,
or even a few turns of cord, will afford a tolerable substitute when nails
cannot be procured.
If the beginner supplies himself with the articles which have been named,
he will be in possession of all the gear which is _necessary_ for ordinary
mountain excursions, and if he uses his plant properly he will avoid many
of the disagreeables which are looked upon by some as almost unavoidable
accompaniments of the sport of mountaineering. I have not throughout the
volume ignored the dangers which are real and unavoidable, and say
distinctly that too great watchfulness cannot be exercised at great
altitudes. But I say now, as I have frequently said before, that the great
majority of accidents which occur to mountaineers, especially to
mountaineering amateurs in the Alps, are not the result of unavoidable
dangers; and that they are for the most part the product of ignorance and
neglect. I consider that falling rocks are the greatest danger which a
mountaineer is likely to encounter, and in concluding these prefatory
remarks I especially warn the novice against the things which tumble about
the ears of unwary travellers.
CONTENTS.
1860
CHAPTER I.
INTRODUCTORY.
BEACHY HEAD—DEVIL OF NOTRE DAME—VISP THAL—SCRAMBLING ALONE—THE
WEISSHORN—ST. BERNARD—RASCALLY GUIDE—A VILLAGE CONCERT—STORM ON THE COL DE
LAUTARET
Pages 1-12
1861
CHAPTER II.
THE ASCENT OF MONT PELVOUX.
THE VALLEYS OF DAUPHINÉ—THE PEAKS OF DAUPHINÉ—MISTAKES IN THEIR
IDENTIFICATION—EARLY ATTEMPTS TO ASCEND MONT PELVOUX—INTRODUCTION TO
MONSIEUR REYNAUD—GRENOBLE—MEETING WITH MACDONALD—NATIONAL SENTIMENTS—WE
ENGAGE A GUIDE—START FOR PELVOUX—PASS THE CAVERN OF THE VAUDOIS—MASSACRE
OF THE VAUDOIS—FIRST NIGHT OUT—WE ARE REPULSED—ARRIVAL OF MACDONALD—THIRD
NIGHT OUT—TORRENTS ON FIRE—FALLING ROCKS—ASCENT OF THE PELVOUX—THE
PYRAMID—VIEW FROM THE SUMMIT—WE DISCOVER THE POINTE DES ECRINS—SURPRISED
BY NIGHT—ON FLEAS—EN ROUTE FOR MONTE VISO—DESERTERS—CAMP ON AN
ANT-HILL—ST. VERAN—PRIMITIVE MANNERS—NATURAL PILLARS—ARRIVE AT BRIANÇON
13-41
CHAPTER III.
MY FIRST SCRAMBLE ON THE MATTERHORN.
THE WEISSHORN AND THE MATTERHORN—INTRODUCTION TO JEAN-ANTOINE
CARREL—SUPERSTITIONS OF THE NATIVES IN REGARD TO THE MATTERHORN—RIDGES OF
THE MATTERHORN—EARLIEST ATTEMPTS TO ASCEND THE MOUNTAIN—ATTEMPT BY THE
MESSRS. PARKER—ATTEMPT BY MESSRS. HAWKINS AND TYNDALL—ARRIVE AT
BREIL—UNWILLINGNESS OF THE GUIDES TO HAVE ANYTHING TO DO WITH THE
MATTERHORN—THE CARRELS ENDEAVOUR TO CUT US OUT—THE “GREAT STAIRCASE”—THE
COL DU LION—WE DECIDE TO CAMP THERE—GREAT EXCITEMENT FROM FALLING
STONES—LIGHT AND SHADE—THE “CHIMNEY”—DEFEATED—A COOL PROCEEDING
42-57
1862
CHAPTER IV.
RENEWED ATTEMPTS TO ASCEND THE MATTERHORN.
MR. KENNEDY’S WINTER ATTEMPT—BENNEN REFUSES TO START AGAIN—THE THÉODULE
PASS—MEYNET, THE HUNCHBACK OF BREIL—ON TENTS FOR MOUNTAINEERING—MACDONALD
AND I START FOR THE MATTERHORN—NARROW ESCAPE OF KRONIG—VIOLENT WIND TURNS
US BACK—ENGAGE CARREL AND PESSION AND START AGAIN—THE “GREAT
TOWER”—PESSION BECOMES ILL AND WE ARE OBLIGED TO RETURN—BAD
WEATHER—SCRAMBLE ALONE ON THE MATTERHORN—PIONEERS OF VEGETATION—VIEW FROM
THE TENT—A SOLITARY BIVOUAC—MONTE VISO SEEN BY MOONLIGHT AT NINETY-EIGHT
MILES’ DISTANCE—ON AIDS TO CLIMBERS—CLIMBING CLAW—FIND A NEW PLACE FOR THE
TENT—I ATTAIN A GREATER ALTITUDE ALONE THAN HAD BEEN REACHED BEFORE, AND
NEARLY COME TO GRIEF—MY FOURTH ATTEMPT TO ASCEND THE MATTERHORN—DEFEATED
AGAIN BY WEATHER—THE CARRELS GO MARMOT-HUNTING, AND WE START FOR A FIFTH
ATTEMPT—DEFEATED BY NATURAL DIFFICULTIES—TYNDALL ARRIVES AND CARRIES OFF
THE CARRELS—A CANNONADE ON THE MATTERHORN—TYNDALL IS
REPULSED—CONFLAGRATION IN DAUPHINÉ
58-87
1863
CHAPTER V.
THE VAL TOURNANCHE—THE BREUILJOCH—ZERMATT—FIRST ASCENT OF THE GRAND
TOURNALIN.
THE DOUANE—“BUT WHAT IS THIS?”—DIFFICULTIES WITH MY LADDER—EXPLANATION OF
TYNDALL’S REPULSE—ROMAN (?) AQUEDUCT IN THE VAL TOURNANCHE—ASCEND THE
CIMES BLANCHES—WE DECEIVE A GOAT—WE INVENT A NEW PASS TO ZERMATT
(BREUILJOCH)—AQUEOUS AND GLACIER EROSION—GLACIER VERSUS ROCKS—SEILER’S
DISINTERESTEDNESS—THE MATTERHORN CLIFFS—EXTRAORDINARY ACCIDENT TO A
CHAMOIS—COL DE VALPELLINE—THE MASTER OF PRERAYEN—ATTEMPT TO ASCEND DENT
D’ERIN (D’HÉRENS)—THE VA CORNÈRE PASS—FIRST ASCENT OF THE GRAND
TOURNALIN—SPLENDID VIEW FROM THE SUMMIT—ON PANORAMIC VIEWS—GOUFFRE DES
BUSSERAILLES—AN ENTERPRISING INNKEEPER
88-113
CHAPTER VI.
OUR SIXTH ATTEMPT TO ASCEND THE MATTERHORN.
EXTREMES MEET—THUNDER AND LIGHTNING—ECHOES OF THUNDER—GREAT ROCKFALLS
DURING THE NIGHT—DEFEATED BY THE WEATHER—MYSTERIOUS MISTS
114-123
1864
CHAPTER VII.
FROM ST. MICHEL TO LA BÉRARDE BY THE COL DES AIGS. D’ARVE, COL DE
MARTIGNARE, AND THE BRÈCHE DE LA MEIJE.
RETURN AGAIN TO DAUPHINÉ—MICHEL CROZ—COL DE VALLOIRES—THE AIGUILLES
D’ARVE—WE MAKE A PASS BETWEEN THEM—COL DE MARTIGNARE—ASCENT OF THE AIG. DE
LA SAUSSE—THE MEIJE—FIRST PASSAGE OF THE BRÈCHE DE LA MEIJE—MELCHIOR
ANDEREGG—LA GRAVE—THE BRÈCHE IS WON—THE VALLON DES ETANÇONS
124-144
CHAPTER VIII.
THE FIRST ASCENT OF THE POINTE DES ECRINS.
LA BÉRARDE—PIC THE PORTER—BIVOUAC ON THE GLACIER DE LA BONNE
PIERRE—DISSOLVING VIEWS—DRYNESS OF THE AIR—TOPOGRAPHY OF CENTRAL DAUPHINÉ
ALPS—FIRST ATTEMPTS TO ASCEND THE ECRINS—A MIGHTY AVALANCHE—OUR ASCENT OF
THE FINAL PEAK—ON SPLINTERS FROM SUMMITS—LE JEU NE VAUT PAS LA
CHANDELLE—SHATTERED RIDGE—ALMER’S LEAP—SURPRISED BY NIGHT—A WARNING
145-165
CHAPTER IX.
FROM VAL LOUISE TO LA BÉRARDE BY THE COL DE PILATTE.
CHALETS OF ENTRAIGUES—ARRIVAL OF REYNAUD—ON SNOW COULOIRS—SUMMIT OF THE
COL—EXCITING DESCENT—REYNAUD COMES OVER THE SCHRUND—THE LAST OF DAUPHINÉ
166-175
CHAPTER X.
THE FIRST PASSAGE OF THE COL DE TRIOLET, AND FIRST ASCENTS OF MONT DOLENT,
AIGUILLE DE TRÉLATÊTE, AND AIGUILLE D’ARGENTIÈRE.
MAPS OF MONT BLANC—MR. ADAMS-REILLY—OUR COMPACT—THE PEAKS OF THE MONT
BLANC RANGE—ACROSS THE COL DE TRIOLET—A MINIATURE ASCENT—REILLY ADVOCATES
PATIENCE—BIVOUAC ON MONT SUC—THE FIRST ASCENT OF AIG. DE TRÉLATÊTE—THE
MORAINE OF THE MIAGE—ON MORAINES IN GENERAL—ERRONEOUS VIEWS RESPECTING
THEM—OUR FIRST ATTEMPT TO ASCEND AIG. D’ARGENTIÈRE—A CONCEALED
CAVERN—SUCCESS AT LAST—MR. REILLY’S MAP
176-192
CHAPTER XI.
THE FIRST PASSAGE OF THE MOMING PASS—ZINAL TO ZERMATT.
SWISS MENDICANTS—NIGHT ON THE ARPITETTA ALP—A PERILOUS
PATH—ICE-AVALANCHE—SUMMIT OF THE MOMING PASS—CROZ DISTINGUISHES
HIMSELF—THE CLUB-ROOM OF ZERMATT
193-203
1865
CHAPTER XII.
THE FIRST ASCENT OF THE GRAND CORNIER.
ON CHOICE OF ROUTES—REGRETS—ZINAL—ASCENT OF THE GRAND CORNIER—EFFECTS OF
SUN AND FROST—GREAT RIDGES SUFFER MOST—POINTS OF DIFFERENCE BETWEEN
ATMOSPHERIC AND GLACIER EROSION—ABRICOLLA
204-214
CHAPTER XIII.
THE ASCENT OF THE DENT BLANCHE.
LESLIE STEPHEN—KENNEDY’S ASCENT—ON BERGSCHRUNDS—UNWELCOME ATTENTIONS—A
RACE FOR LIFE—BENIGHTED—A SURPRISE
215-222
CHAPTER XIV.
LOST ON THE COL D’HÉRENS—SEVENTH ATTEMPT TO ASCEND THE MATTERHORN—THE
FIRST ASCENT OF THE GRANDES JORASSES.
A LATE START AND THE RESULT—BEWILDERED—RETURN TO ABRICOLLA—CROSS COL
D’HÉRENS TO ZERMATT—ASCEND THE THÉODULHORN—NEW IDEAS REGARDING THE
MATTERHORN—DECEPTIVENESS OF THE EAST FACE—STRATIFICATION—DIP OF THE
BEDS—TRY ANOTHER ROUTE—“SAUVE QUI PEUT”—BEATEN AGAIN—ASCENT OF THE GRANDES
JORASSES—NARROW ESCAPE FROM AN AVALANCHE
223-238
CHAPTER XV.
THE FIRST PASSAGE OF THE COL DOLENT.
CONFUSION OF IDEAS—A MIDNIGHT START—SUMMIT OF THE PASS—EXTRAORDINARY
ICE-WALL—MANNER OF ITS DESCENT—ON ICE-AXES AND THEIR USE—ON ICE-SLOPES AND
THEIR SAFETY—CRAMPONS—ARRIVAL AT CHAMOUNIX
239-246
CHAPTER XVI.
THE FIRST ASCENT OF THE AIGUILLE VERTE.
CROZ LEAVES US—CHRISTIAN ALMER—SUNSET ON THE MER DE GLACE—ASCENT OF THE
AIGUILLE—ADVICE TO MOUNTAIN WALKERS—VIEW FROM THE SUMMIT—STORMS COME ON—A
WORTHY PORTER—THE NOBLE ATTITUDE OF CHAMOUNIX
247-254
CHAPTER XVII.
THE FIRST PASSAGE OF THE COL DE TALÈFRE.
THE COL DU GÉANT—THE GLACIER DE TALÈFRE—EASY WAY FROM CHAMOUNIX TO
COURMAYEUR—GLISSADING—PASSES OVER THE MAIN CHAIN OF MONT BLANC
255-258
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE FIRST ASCENT OF THE RUINETTE—THE MATTERHORN.
FACILITY WITH WHICH THE RUINETTE CAN BE ASCENDED—NOBLE PANORAMA—ON
CONCEALED CREVASSES—GUIDES’ OBJECTION TO USE OF THE ROPE—ON THE USE AND
ABUSE OF THE ROPE—ALMER DECLINES THE MATTERHORN—ENGAGE THE CARRELS—THEIR
DEFECTION—THE ITALIANS STEAL A MARCH—ARRIVAL OF LORD FRANCIS
DOUGLAS—MEETING WITH CROZ, HUDSON, AND HADOW
259-272
CHAPTER XIX.
THE FIRST ASCENT OF THE MATTERHORN.
CHARLES HUDSON—CAMP ON THE EAST FACE—CROZ REPORTS FAVOURABLY—ASCENT OF THE
EASTERN FACE—CROSS TO THE NORTHERN SIDE—ARRIVAL AT SUMMIT—DISCOMFITURE OF
THE ITALIANS—ASTONISHMENT AT BREIL—MARVELLOUS PANORAMA
273-283
CHAPTER XX.
THE DESCENT OF THE MATTERHORN.
ORDER OF THE DESCENT—A FRIGHTFUL AVALANCHE—HADOW SLIPS—DEATH OF CROZ,
HADOW, HUDSON, AND LORD F. DOUGLAS—TERROR OF THE TAUGWALDERS—THE BROKEN
ROPE—AN APPARITION—AN INFAMOUS PROPOSITION—SURPRISED BY NIGHT—SEARCH FOR
AND RECOVERY OF THE BODIES—OFFICIAL EXAMINATION—THE END
284-298
APPENDIX.
PAGE
*A.* THE DEATH OF BENNEN 301
*B.* STRUCK BY LIGHTNING UPON THE MATTERHORN 303
*C.* NOTE ON THE HIGHEST MOUNTAIN IN FRANCE 304
*D.* SUBSEQUENT HISTORY OF THE MATTERHORN 304
*E.* TABLE OF ATTEMPTS TO ASCEND THE MATTERHORN 315
*F.* TABLE OF ASCENTS OF THE MATTERHORN 316
*G.* GEOLOGY OF THE MATTERHORN, BY SIG. F. GIORDANO 323
*H.* PROFESSOR TYNDALL AND THE MATTERHORN 325
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
The Drawings were made on the Wood by
H. J. BOOT, GUSTAVE DORÉ, C. JOHNSON, J. MAHONEY, J. W. NORTH, P. SKELTON,
W. G. SMITH, C. J. STANILAND, and J. WOLF; and were Engraved by J. W. and
EDWARD WHYMPER.
FULL PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS.
1. “THEY SAW MASSES OF ROCKS, BOULDERS AND _Frontispiece._
STONES, BIG AND LITTLE, DART ROUND THE
CORNER”
2. OUTLINES OF THE MATTERHORN FROM THE _To face page_ 44
NORTH-EAST AND FROM THE SUMMIT OF THE
THÉODULE PASS (TO SHOW RIDGES, AND POINTS
ATTAINED ON THE DIFFERENT ATTEMPTS TO
ASCEND THE MOUNTAIN)
3. THE MATTERHORN, FROM NEAR THE SUMMIT OF „ 46
THE THÉODULE PASS
4. “THE CHIMNEY” „ 76
5. “IN ATTEMPTING TO PASS THE CORNER I „ 78
SLIPPED AND FELL”
6. A CANNONADE ON THE MATTERHORN (1862) „ 84
7. “THEY SCATTERED IN A PANIC WHEN SALUTED BY „ 107
THE CRIES OF MY EXCITED COMRADE”
8. THE CRAGS OF THE MATTERHORN, DURING THE „ 120
STORM, MIDNIGHT, AUGUST 10, 1863
9. THE CLUB-ROOM OF ZERMATT IN 1864 „ 202
10. THE MATTERHORN FROM THE RIFFELBERG „ 227
11. SECTIONS OF THE MATTERHORN „ 230
12. FOG-BOW, SEEN FROM THE MATTERHORN ON JULY „ 288
14, 1865
13. THE HUT ON THE EASTERN FACE (ZERMATT SIDE) „ 309
OF THE MATTERHORN
14. GEOLOGICAL SECTION OF THE MATTERHORN „ 324
IN THE TEXT.
PAGE
1. POINT OF ALPENSTOCK vii
2. BIRMINGHAM PICK-AXE WITH MOVEABLE HEAD viii
3. RUSSIAN FURNACE viii
4. COOKING TINS ix
5. SNOW SPECTACLES x
6. ARCTIC CAP xi
7. THE COMPLETE DISGUISE xi
8. BEACHY HEAD 1
9. THE DEVIL OF NOTRE DAME 2
10. THE CHURCH IN DIFFICULTIES 5
11. AT THE ST. BERNARD 6
12. THE VILLAGE OF BIONA 7
13. CROSSING MONT CENIS 9
14. “GARIBALDI!” 10
15. A BIT OF THE VILLAGE OF ZERMATT 12
16. BRIANÇON 13
17. MONT PELVOUX FROM ABOVE LA BESSÉE 19
18. THE GRAND PELVOUX DE VAL LOUISE 21
19. BUTTRESSES OF MONT PELVOUX 26
20. PORTRAIT OF THE LATE R. J. S. MACDONALD 29
21. OUTLINE TO SHOW ROUTE UP MONT PELVOUX 31
22. THE BLANKET BAG 38
23. NATURAL PILLAR NEAR MOLINES 40
24. PORTRAIT OF THE LATE J. J. BENNEN 48
25. PORTRAIT OF JEAN-ANTOINE CARREL 51
26. THE COL DU LION: LOOKING TOWARDS THE TÊTE DU LION 53
27. DIAGRAM TO SHOW MANNER OF FASTENING TENT-POLES 62
28. THE AUTHOR’S MOUNTAIN TENT 62
29. CLIMBING CLAW 72
30. ROPE AND RING 73
31. AT BREIL (GIOMEIN) 79
32. THE MATTERHORN FROM BREIL 85
33. “BUT WHAT IS THIS?” 88
34. AN ARCH OF THE AQUEDUCT IN THE VAL TOURNANCHE 92
35. WATER-WORN ROCKS IN THE GORGE BELOW THE GORNER GLACIER 96
36. STRIATIONS PRODUCED BY GLACIER-ACTION 97
37. CHAMOIS IN DIFFICULTIES 102
38. “CARREL LOWERED ME DOWN” 108
39. PORTRAIT OF THE LATE CANON CARREL OF AOSTA 109
40. PORTRAIT OF MONSIEUR FAVRE 121
41. CROSSING THE CHANNEL 123
42. PORTRAIT OF THE LATE MICHEL-AUGUSTE CROZ 125
43. PLAN TO SHOW ROUTE 128
44. THE AIGUILLES D’ARVE, FROM ABOVE THE CHALETS OF RIEU BLANC 130
45. PORTRAIT OF MELCHIOR ANDEREGG 138
46. MAP OF THE BRÈCHE DE LA MEIJE, ETC. 140
47. DIAGRAM TO SHOW ANGLE OF SUMMIT OF MEIJE, ETC. 142
48. THE VALLON DES ETANÇONS 143
49. MAP OF THE CENTRAL DAUPHINÉ ALPS 146
50. THE POINTE DES ECRINS FROM THE COL DU GALIBIER 155
51. OUTLINE TO SHOW ROUTE UP POINTE DES ECRINS 156
52. FRAGMENT FROM THE SUMMIT OF THE POINTE DES ECRINS 159
53. A NIGHT WITH CROZ 164
54. A SNOW COULOIR 169
55. PORTRAITS OF MR. REILLY ON A WET DAY 184
56. OUR CAMP ON MONT SUC 185
57. ICE-AVALANCHE ON THE MOMING PASS 198
58. SUMMIT OF THE MOMING PASS 200
59. FACSIMILE OF A LETTER FROM CROZ 208
60. PART OF THE SOUTHERN RIDGE OF THE GRAND CORNIER 210
61. PART OF THE NORTHERN RIDGE OF THE GRAND CORNIER 211
62. PORTRAIT OF LESLIE STEPHEN 215
63. THE BERGSCHRUND ON THE DENT BLANCHE 217
64. PORTRAIT OF T. S. KENNEDY 222
65. DIAGRAMS TO SHOW DIP OF STRATA ON THE MATTERHORN 229
66. MY TENT-BEARER—THE HUNCHBACK 234
67. THE GRANDES JORASSES AND THE DOIRE TORRENT 237
68. THE SUMMIT OF THE COL DOLENT 241
69. MY ICE-AXE 243
70. KENNEDY ICE-AXE 244
71. LESLIE STEPHEN ICE-AXE 244
72. CRAMPON 245
73. PORTRAIT OF CHRISTIAN ALMER 248
74. ON THE MER DE GLACE 249
75. WESTERN SIDE OF THE COL DE TALÈFRE 255
76. GLISSADING 257
77. THE WRONG WAY TO USE A ROPE ON GLACIER 263
78. THE RIGHT WAY TO USE A ROPE ON GLACIER 264
79. “CROZ! CROZ!! COME HERE!” 279
80. THE SUMMIT OF THE MATTERHORN IN 1865 281
81. THE ACTUAL SUMMIT OF THE MATTERHORN 284
82. ROPE BROKEN ON THE MATTERHORN 287
83. DIAGRAM OF FOG-BOW 289
84. PORTRAIT OF MONSIEUR ALEX. SEILER 290
85. THE MANILLA ROPE BROKEN ON THE MATTERHORN 292
86. THE “SECOND” ROPE BROKEN ON THE MATTERHORN 293
87. THE ENGLISH CHURCH AT ZERMATT 294
88. THE END 298
89. THE CHAPEL AT THE SCHWARZSEE 310
90. THE SUMMIT OF THE MATTERHORN IN 1874 (NORTHERN END) 311
91. “THE THINGS WHICH TUMBLE ABOUT THE EARS OF UNWARY 325
TRAVELLERS”
MAPS.
_To be placed at the end of the Volume._
1. THE MATTERHORN AND ITS GLACIERS (_in colours_).
2. THE VALLEY OF ZERMATT; AND THE CENTRAL PENNINE ALPS.
The body of the work has been printed by Messrs. WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS;
and the separate Plates have been printed by the AUTHOR.
THE ASCENT OF THE MATTERHORN
[Illustration: BEACHY HEAD.]
CHAPTER I.
On the 23d of July 1860, I started for my first tour in the Alps. As we
steamed out into the Channel, Beachy Head came into view, and recalled a
scramble of many years ago. With the impudence of ignorance, my brother(4)
and I, schoolboys both, had tried to scale that great chalk cliff. Not the
head itself—where sea-birds circle, and where the flints are ranged so
orderly in parallel lines—but at a place more to the east, where the
pinnacle called the Devil’s Chimney had fallen down. Since that time we
have been often in dangers of different kinds, but never have we more
nearly broken our necks than upon that occasion.
In Paris I made two ascents. The first to the seventh floor of a house in
the Quartier Latin—to an artist friend, who was engaged, at the moment of
my entry, in combat with a little Jew. He hurled him with great good-will,
and with considerable force, into some of his crockery, and then
recommended me to go up the towers of Notre Dame. Half-an-hour later I
stood on the parapet of the great west front, by the side of the leering
fiend which for centuries has looked down upon the great city, and then
took rail to Switzerland; saw the sunlight lingering on the giants of the
Oberland; heard the echoes from the cow-horns in the Lauterbrunnen valley
and the avalanches rattling off the Jungfrau; and crossed the Gemmi into
the Valais.
[Illustration: THE DEVIL OF NOTRE DAME.]
I was bound for the valley of Saas, and my work took me high up the Alps
on either side; far beyond the limit of trees and the tracks of tourists.
The view from the slopes of the Weissmies, on the eastern side of the
valley, 5000 or 6000 feet above the village of Saas, is perhaps the finest
of its kind in the Alps. The full height of the three-peaked Mischabel
(the highest mountain in Switzerland) is seen at one glance; 11,000 feet
of dense forests, green alps, rocky pinnacles, and glittering glaciers.
The peaks seemed to me then to be hopelessly inaccessible from this
direction.
I next descended the valley to the village of Stalden, and went up the
Visp Thal to Zermatt, and stopped there several days. Numerous traces of
the formidable earthquake-shocks of five years before still remained;
particularly at St. Nicholas, where the inhabitants had been terrified
beyond measure at the destruction of their churches and houses. At this
place, as well as at Visp, a large part of the population was obliged to
live under canvas for several months. It is remarkable that there was
hardly a life lost on this occasion, although there were about fifty
shocks, some of which were very severe.
At Zermatt I wandered in many directions, but the weather was bad, and my
work was much retarded. One day, after spending a long time in attempts to
sketch near the Hörnli, and in futile endeavours to seize the forms of the
peaks as they for a few seconds peered out from above the dense banks of
woolly clouds, I determined not to return to Zermatt by the usual path,
and to cross the Gorner glacier to the Riffel hotel. After a rapid
scramble over the polished rocks and snowbeds which skirt the base of the
Théodule glacier, and wading through some of the streams which flow from
it, at that time much swollen by the late rains, the first difficulty was
arrived at, in the shape of a precipice about three hundred feet high. It
seemed that it would be easy enough to cross the glacier if the cliff
could be descended; but higher up, and lower down, the ice appeared, to my
inexperienced eyes, to be impassable for a single person. The general
contour of the cliff was nearly perpendicular, but it was a good deal
broken up, and there was little difficulty in descending by zigzagging
from one mass to another. At length there was a long slab, nearly smooth,
fixed at an angle of about forty degrees between two wall-sided pieces of
rock. Nothing, except the glacier, could be seen below. It was an awkward
place, but I passed it at length by lying across the slab, putting the
shoulders stiffly against one side, and the feet against the other, and
gradually wriggling down, by first moving the legs and then the back. When
the bottom of the slab was gained a friendly crack was seen, into which
the point of the baton could be stuck, and I dropped down to the next
piece. It took a long time coming down that little bit of cliff, and for a
few seconds it was satisfactory to see the ice close at hand. In another
moment a second difficulty presented itself. The glacier swept round an
angle of the cliff, and as the ice was not of the nature of treacle or
thin putty, it kept away from the little bay, on the edge of which I
stood. We were not widely separated, but the edge of the ice was higher
than the opposite edge of rock; and worse, the rock was covered with loose
earth and stones which had fallen from above. All along the side of the
cliff, as far as could be seen in both directions, the ice did not touch
it, but there was this marginal crevasse, seven feet wide, and of unknown
depth.
All this was seen at a glance, and almost at once I concluded that I could
not jump the crevasse, and began to try along the cliff lower down; but
without success, for the ice rose higher and higher, until at last further
progress was stopped by the cliffs becoming perfectly smooth. With an axe
it would have been possible to cut up the side of the ice; without one I
saw there was no alternative but to return and face the jump.
Night was approaching, and the solemn stillness of the High Alps was
broken only by the sound of rushing water or of falling rocks. If the jump
should be successful,—well; if not, I fell into that horrible chasm, to be
frozen in, or drowned in that gurgling, rushing water. Everything depended
on that jump. Again I asked myself, “Can it be done?” It _must_ be. So,
finding my stick was useless, I threw it and the sketch-book to the ice,
and first retreating as far as possible, ran forward with all my might,
took the leap, barely reached the other side, and fell awkwardly on my
knees.
The glacier was crossed without further trouble, but the Riffel,(5) which
was then a very small building, was crammed with tourists, and could not
take me in. As the way down was unknown to me, some of the people
obligingly suggested getting a man at the chalets, otherwise the path
would be certainly lost in the forest. On arriving at the chalets no man
could be found, and the lights of Zermatt, shining through the trees,
seemed to say, “Never mind a guide, but come along down, I’ll show you the
way;” so off I went through the forest, going straight towards them. The
path was lost in a moment, and was never recovered. I was tripped up by
pine-roots, tumbled over rhododendron bushes, fell over rocks. The night
was pitch dark, and after a time the lights of Zermatt became obscure, or
went out altogether. By a series of slides, or falls, or evolutions more
or less disagreeable, the descent through the forest was at length
accomplished; but torrents of formidable character had still to be passed
before one could arrive at Zermatt. I felt my way about for hours, almost
hopelessly; by an exhaustive process at last discovering a bridge, and
about midnight, covered with dirt and scratches, re-entered the inn which
I had quitted in the morning.
[Illustration: The church in difficulties]
Others besides tourists get into difficulties. A day or two afterwards,
when on the way to my old station, near the Hörnli, I met a stout curé who
had essayed to cross the Théodule pass. His strength or his wind had
failed, and he was being carried down, a helpless bundle and a ridiculous
spectacle, on the back of a lanky guide; while the peasants stood by, with
folded hands, their reverence for the church almost overcome by their
sense of the ludicrous.
I descended the valley, diverging from the path at Randa to mount the
slopes of the Dom,(6) in order to see the Weisshorn face to face. The
latter mountain is the noblest in Switzerland, and from this direction it
looks especially magnificent. On its north there is a large snowy plateau
that feeds the glacier of which a portion is seen from Randa, and which on
more than one occasion has destroyed that village. From the direction of
the Dom (that is, immediately opposite) this Bies glacier seems to descend
nearly vertically. It does not do so, although it is very steep. Its size
is much less than formerly, and the lower portion, now divided into three
tails, clings in a strange, weird-like manner to the cliffs, to which it
seems scarcely possible that it can remain attached.
[Illustration: At the St. Bernard]
Arriving once more in the Rhone valley, I proceeded to Viesch, and from
thence ascended the Eggischorn; on which unpleasant eminence I lost my way
in a fog, and my temper shortly afterwards. Then, after crossing the
Grimsel in a severe thunderstorm, passed on to Brienz, Interlachen, and
Bern; and thence to Fribourg and Morat, Neuchâtel, Martigny, and the St.
Bernard. The massive walls of the convent were a welcome sight as I waded
through the snow-beds near the summit of the pass, and pleasant also was
the courteous salutation of the brother who bade me enter. He wondered at
the weight of my knapsack, and I at the hardness of his bread. The saying
that the monks make the toast in the winter that they give to tourists in
the following season is not founded on truth; the winter is their most
busy time of the year. But it _is_ true they have exercised so much
hospitality, that at times they have not possessed the means to furnish
the fuel for heating their chapel in the winter.(7)
Instead of descending to Aosta, I turned aside into the Val Pelline, in
order to obtain views of the Dent d’Erin. The night had come on before
Biona was gained, and I had to knock long and loud upon the door of the
curé’s house before it was opened. An old woman, with querulous voice, and
with a large goître, answered the summons, and demanded rather sharply
what was wanted; but became pacific—almost good-natured—when a five-franc
piece was held in her face, and she heard that lodging and supper were
requested in exchange.
[Illustration: THE VILLAGE OF BIONA.]
My directions asserted that a passage existed from Prerayen, at the head
of this valley, to Breil,(8) in the Val Tournanche, and the old woman, now
convinced of my respectability, busied herself to find a guide. Presently
she introduced a native, picturesquely attired in high-peaked hat, braided
jacket, scarlet waistcoat, and indigo pantaloons, who agreed to take me to
the village of Val Tournanche. We set off early on the next morning, and
got to the summit of the pass without difficulty. It gave me my first
experience of considerable slopes of hard steep snow, and, like all
beginners, I endeavoured to prop myself up with my stick, and kept it
_outside_, instead of holding it between myself and the slope, and leaning
upon it, as should have been done. The man enlightened me; but he had,
properly, a very small opinion of his employer, and it is probably on that
account that, a few minutes after we had passed the summit, he said he
would not go any further and would return to Biona. All argument was
useless; he stood still, and to everything that was said answered nothing
but that he would go back. Being rather nervous about descending some long
snow-slopes, which still intervened between us and the head of the valley,
I offered more pay, and he went on a little way. Presently there were some
cliffs down which we had to scramble. He called to me to stop, then
shouted that he would go back, and beckoned to me to come up. On the
contrary, I waited for him to come down; but instead of doing so, in a
second or two he turned round, clambered deliberately up the cliff, and
vanished. I supposed it was only a ruse to extort offers of more money,
and waited for half-an-hour, but he did not appear again. This was rather
embarrassing, for he carried off my knapsack. The choice of action lay
between chasing him and going on to Breil, risking the loss of my
knapsack. I chose the latter course, and got to Breil the same evening.
The landlord of the inn, suspicious of a person entirely innocent of
luggage, was doubtful if he could admit me, and eventually thrust me into
a kind of loft, which was already occupied by guides and by hay. In later
years we became good friends, and he did not hesitate to give credit and
even to advance considerable sums.
My sketches from Breil were made under difficulties, for my materials had
been carried off. Nothing better than fine sugar-paper could be obtained,
and the pencils seemed to contain more silica than plumbago. However, they
_were_ made, and the pass(9) was again crossed, this time alone. By the
following evening the old woman of Biona again produced the faithless
guide. The knapsack was recovered after the lapse of several hours, and
then I poured forth all the terms of abuse and reproach of which I was
master. The man smiled when called a liar, and shrugged his shoulders when
referred to as a thief, but drew his knife when spoken of as a pig.
[Illustration: CROSSING MONT CENIS.]
The following night was spent at Courmayeur, and the day after I crossed
the Col Ferret to Orsières, and on the next the Tête Noire to Chamounix.
The Emperor Napoleon arrived on the same day, and access to the Mer de
Glace was refused to tourists; but, by scrambling along the Plan des
Aiguilles, I managed to outwit the guards, and to arrive at the Montanvert
as the Imperial party was leaving: the same afternoon failing to get to
the Jardin, but very nearly succeeding in breaking a leg by dislodging
great rocks on the moraine of the glacier.
[Illustration: “GARIBALDI!”]
From Chamounix I went to Geneva, and thence by the Mont Cenis to Turin and
to the Vaudois valleys. A long and weary day had ended when Paesana was
reached. The inn was full, and I was tired, and about to go to bed, when
some village stragglers entered and began to sing. They sang to Garibaldi!
The tenor, a ragged fellow, whose clothes were not worth a shilling, took
the lead with wonderful expression and feeling. The others kept their
places, and sang in admirable time. For hours I sat enchanted; and, long
after I retired, the sound of their melody could be heard, relieved at
times by the treble of the girl who belonged to the inn.
The next morning I passed the little lakes, which are the sources of the
Po, on my way into France. The weather was stormy, and misinterpreting the
patois of some natives—who in reality pointed out the right way—I missed
the track, and found myself under the cliffs of Monte Viso. A gap that was
occasionally seen, in the ridge connecting it with the mountains to the
east, tempted me up; and, after a battle with a snow-slope of excessive
steepness, I reached the summit. The scene was extraordinary, and, in my
experience, unique. To the north there was not a particle of mist, and the
violent wind coming from that direction blew one back staggering. But on
the side of Italy, the valleys were completely filled with dense masses of
cloud to a certain level; and there—where they felt the influence of the
wind—they were cut off as level as the top of a table, the ridges
appearing above them.
I raced down to Abries, and went on through the gorge of the Guil to Mont
Dauphin. The next day found me at La Bessée, at the junction of the Val
Louise with the valley of the Durance, in full view of Mont Pelvoux; and
by chance I walked into a cabaret where a Frenchman was breakfasting, who,
a few days before, had made an unsuccessful attempt to ascend that
mountain with three Englishmen and the guide Michel Croz of Chamounix;(10)
a right good fellow, by name Jean Reynaud.
The same night I slept at Briançon, intending to take the courier on the
following day to Grenoble; but all places had been secured several days
beforehand, so I set out at two P.M. on the next day for a seventy-mile
walk. The weather was again bad; and on the summit of the Col de Lautaret
I was forced to seek shelter in the wretched little hospice. It was filled
with workmen who were employed on the road, and with noxious vapours which
proceeded from them. The inclemency of the weather was preferable to the
inhospitality of the interior. Outside, it was disagreeable, but grand;
inside, it was disagreeable and mean.(11) The walk was continued under a
deluge of rain, and I felt the way down—so intense was the darkness—to the
village of La Grave, where the people of the inn detained me forcibly. It
was perhaps fortunate that they did so; for, during that night, blocks of
rock fell at several places from the cliffs on to the road with such force
that they made large pits in the macadam. I resumed the walk at half-past
five the next morning, and proceeded, under steady rain, through Bourg
d’Oysans to Grenoble, arriving at the latter place soon after seven P.M.,
having accomplished the entire distance from Briançon in about eighteen
hours of actual walking.
This was the end of the Alpine portion of my tour of 1860, on which I was
introduced to the great peaks, and acquired the passion for
mountain-scrambling, the development of which is described in the
following chapters.
[Illustration: A BIT OF THE VILLAGE OF ZERMATT.]
[Illustration: BRIANÇON.]