THE FIRST PASSAGE OF THE COL DE TRIOLET, AND FIRST ASCENTS OF MONT DOLENT,
AIGUILLE DE TRÉLATÊTE, AND AIGUILLE D’ARGENTIÈRE.
“Nothing binds men so closely together as agreement in plans and
desires.”
CICERO.
A few years ago not many persons knew from personal knowledge how
extremely inaccurately the chain of Mont Blanc was delineated. In the
earlier part of the century thousands had made the tour of the chain, and
before the year 1860 at least _one_ thousand individuals had stood upon
its highest summit; but out of all this number there was not one capable,
willing, or able, to map the mountain which, until recently, was regarded
the highest in Europe.
Many persons knew that great blunders had been perpetrated, and it was
notorious that even Mont Blanc itself was represented in a ludicrously
incorrect manner on all sides excepting the north; but there was not,
perhaps, a single individual who knew, at the time to which I refer, that
errors of no less than 1000 feet had been committed in the determination
of heights at each end of the chain; that some glaciers were represented
of double their real dimensions; and that ridges and mountains were laid
down which actually had no existence.
One portion alone of the entire chain had been surveyed at the time of
which I speak with anything like accuracy. It was not done (as one would
have expected) by a Government, but by a private individual,—by the
British De Saussure,—the late J. D. Forbes. In the year 1842, he “made a
special survey of the Mer de Glace of Chamounix and its tributaries,
which, in some of the following years, he extended by further
observations, so as to include the Glacier des Bossons.” The map produced
from this survey was worthy of its author; and subsequent explorers of the
region he investigated have been able to detect only trivial inaccuracies
in his work.
In 1861, Sheet xxii. of Dufour’s Map of Switzerland appeared. It included
the section of the chain of Mont Blanc that belonged to Switzerland, and
this portion of the sheet was executed with the admirable fidelity and
thoroughness which characterise the whole of Dufour’s unique map. The
remainder of the chain (amounting to about four-fifths of the whole) was
laid down after the work of previous topographers, and its wretchedness
was made more apparent by contrast with the finished work of the Swiss
surveyors.
In 1863, Mr. Adams-Reilly, who had been travelling in the Alps during
several years, resolved to attempt a survey of the unsurveyed portions of
the chain of Mont Blanc. He provided himself with a good theodolite, and
starting from a base-line measured by Forbes in the Valley of Chamounix,
determined the positions of no less than 200 points. The accuracy of his
work may be judged from the fact that, after having turned many corners
and carried his observations over a distance of fifty miles, his Col
Ferret “fell within 200 yards of the position assigned to it by General
Dufour!”
In the winter of 1863 and the spring of 1864, Mr. Reilly constructed an
entirely original map from his newly-acquired data. The spaces between his
trigonometrically determined points he filled in after photographs, and a
series of panoramic sketches which he made from his different stations.
The map so produced was an immense advance upon those already in
existence, and it was the first which exhibited the great peaks in their
proper positions.
This extraordinary piece of work revealed Mr. Reilly to me as a man of
wonderful determination and perseverance. With very small hope that my
proposal would be accepted, I invited him to take part in renewed attacks
on the Matterhorn. He entered heartily into my plans, and met me with a
counter-proposition, namely, that I should accompany him on some
expeditions which he had projected in the chain of Mont Blanc. The
unwritten contract took this form:—I will help you to carry out your
desires, and you shall assist me to carry out mine. I eagerly closed with
an arrangement in which all the advantages were upon my side.
At the time that Mr. Reilly was carrying on his survey, Captain Mieulet
was executing another in continuation of the great map of France; for
about one-half of the chain of Mont Blanc (including the whole of the
valley of Chamounix) had recently become French once more. Captain Mieulet
was directed to survey up to his frontier only, and the sheet which was
destined to include his work was to be engraved, of course, upon the scale
of the rest of the map, viz., 1/80000 of nature. But upon representations
being made at head-quarters that it would be of great advantage to extend
the survey as far as Courmayeur, Captain Mieulet was directed to continue
his observations into the south (or Italian) side of the chain. A special
sheet on the scale of 1/40000 was promptly engraved from the materials he
accumulated, and was published in 1865, by order of the late Minister of
War, Marshal Randon.(124) This sheet was admirably executed, but it
included the central portion of the chain only, and a complete map was
still wanting.
Mr. Reilly presented his MS. map to the English Alpine Club. It was
resolved that it should be published; but before it passed into the
engraver’s hands its author undertook to revise it carefully. To this end
he planned a number of expeditions to high points which up to that time
had been regarded inaccessible, and upon some of these ascents he invited
me to accompany him. Before I pass on to these expeditions, it will be
convenient to devote a few lines to the topography of the chain of Mont
Blanc.
At the present time the chain is divided betwixt France, Switzerland, and
Italy. France has the lion’s share, Switzerland the most fertile portion,
and Italy the steepest side. It has acquired a reputation which is not
extraordinary, but which is not wholly merited. It has neither the beauty
of the Oberland, nor the sublimity of Dauphiné. It attracts the vulgar by
the possession of the highest summit in the Alps. If that is removed, the
elevation of the chain is in nowise remarkable. In fact, excluding Mont
Blanc itself, the mountains of which the chain is made up are less
important than those of the Oberland and the central Pennine groups. The
following table will afford a ready means of comparison.(125)
Mètres. Eng. feet(126)
1. Mont Blanc 4810 = 15,781
2. Grandes Jorasses 4206 . 13,800
3. Aiguille Verte 4127 . 13,540
4. Aiguille de Bionnassay 4061 . 13,324
5. Les Droites 4030 . 13,222
6. Aiguille du Géant 4010 . 13,157
7. Aiguille de Trélatête, No. 1 3932 . 12,900
Aiguille de Trélatête, No. 2 3904 . 12,809
Aiguille de Trélatête, No. 3 3896 . 12,782
8. Aiguille d’Argentière 3901 . 12,799
9. Aiguille de Triolet 3879 . 12,726
10. Aiguille du Midi 3843 . 12,608
11. Aiguille du Glacier 3834 . 12,579
12. Mont Dolent 3830 . 12,566
13. Aiguille du Chardonnet 3823 . 12,543
14. Aiguille du Dru 3815 . 12,517
15. Aiguille de Miage 3680 . 12,074
16. Aiguille du Plan 3673 . 12,051
17. Aiguille de Blaitière 3533 . 11,591
18. Aiguille des Charmoz 3442 . 11,293
The frontier-line follows the main ridge. Very little of it can be seen
from the Valley of Chamounix, and from the village itself two small strips
only are visible (amounting to scarcely three miles in length)—viz. from
the summit of Mont Blanc to the Dôme du Goûter, and in the neighbourhood
of the Col de Balme. All the rest is concealed by outlying ridges and by
mountains of secondary importance.
Mont Blanc itself is bounded by the two glaciers of Miage, the glaciers de
la Brenva and du Géant, the Val Véni and the Valley of Chamounix. A long
ridge runs out towards the N.N.E. from the summit, through Mont Maudit, to
the Aiguille du Midi. Another ridge proceeds towards the N.W., through the
Bosse du Dromadaire to the Dôme du Goûter; this then divides into two, of
which one continues N.W. to the Aiguille du Goûter, and the other (which
is a part of the main ridge of the chain) towards the W. to the Aiguille
de Bionnassay. The two routes which are commonly followed for the ascent
of Mont Blanc lie between these two principal ridges—one leading from
Chamounix, _viâ_ the Grands Mulets, the other from the village of
Bionnassay, _viâ_ the Aiguille and Dôme du Goûter.
The ascent of Mont Blanc has been made from several directions besides
these, and perhaps there is no single point of the compass from which the
mountain cannot be ascended. But there is not the least probability that
any one will discover easier ways to the summit than those already known.
I believe it is correct to say that the Aiguille du Midi and the Aiguille
de Miage were the only two summits in the chain of Mont Blanc which had
been ascended at the beginning of 1864.(127) The latter of these two is a
perfectly insignificant point; and the former is only a portion of one of
the ridges just now mentioned, and can hardly be regarded as a mountain
separate and distinct from Mont Blanc. The really great peaks of the chain
were considered inaccessible, and, I think, with the exception of the
Aiguille Verte, had never been assailed.
The finest, as well as the highest peak in the chain (after Mont Blanc
itself), is the Grandes Jorasses. The next, without a doubt, is the
Aiguille Verte. The Aiguille de Bionnassay, which in actual height follows
the Verte, should be considered as a part of Mont Blanc; and in the same
way the summit called Les Droites is only a part of the ridge which
culminates in the Verte. The Aiguille de Trélatête is the next on the list
that is entitled to be considered a separate mountain, and is by far the
most important peak (as well as the highest) at the south-west end of the
chain. Then comes the Aiguille d’Argentière, which occupies the same rank
at the north-east end as the last-mentioned mountain does in the
south-west. The rest of the aiguilles are comparatively insignificant; and
although some of them (such as the Mont Dolent) look well from low
elevations, and seem to possess a certain importance, they sink into their
proper places directly one arrives at a considerable altitude.
The summit of the Aiguille Verte would have been one of the best stations
out of all these mountains for the purposes of my friend. Its great
height, and its isolated and commanding position, make it a most admirable
point for viewing the intricacies of the chain; but he exercised a wise
discretion in passing it by, and in selecting as our first excursion the
passage of the Col de Triolet.(128)
We slept under some big rocks on the Couvercle on the night of July 7,
with the thermometer at 26·5 Faht., and at 4.30 on the 8th made a straight
track to the north of the Jardin, and thence went in zigzags, to break the
ascent, over the upper slopes of the Glacier de Talèfre towards the foot
of the Aiguille de Triolet. Croz was still my guide, Reilly was
accompanied by one of the Michel Payots of Chamounix, and Henri Charlet,
of the same place, was our porter.
The way was over an undulating plain of glacier of moderate inclination
until the corner leading to the Col, from whence a steep secondary glacier
led down into the basin of the Talèfre. We experienced no difficulty in
making the ascent of this secondary glacier with such ice-men as Croz and
Payot, and at 7.50 A.M. arrived on the top of the so-called pass, at a
height, according to Mieulet, of 12,162 feet, and 4530 above our camp on
the Couvercle.
The descent was commenced by very steep, but firm, rocks, and then by a
branch of the Glacier de Triolet. Schrunds(129) were abundant; there were
no less than five extending completely across the glacier, all of which
had to be jumped. Not one was equal in dimensions to the extraordinary
chasm on the Col de Pilatte, although in the aggregate they far surpassed
it. “Our lives,” so Reilly expressed it, “were made a burden to us with
schrunds.”
We flattered ourselves that we should arrive at the chalets of Prè du Bar
very early in the day; but, owing to much time being lost on the slopes of
Mont Rouge, it was nearly 4 P.M. before we got to them. There were no
bridges across the torrent nearer than Gruetta, and rather than descend so
far, we preferred to round the base of Mont Rouge, and to cross the snout
of the Glacier du Mont Dolent.(130)
We occupied the 9th with a scramble up Mont Dolent. This was a miniature
ascent. It contained a little of everything. First we went up to the Col
Ferret (No. 1), and had a little grind over shaly banks; then there was a
little walk over grass; then a little tramp over a moraine (which, strange
to say, gave a pleasant path); then a little zigzagging over the
snow-covered glacier of Mont Dolent. Then there was a little bergschrund;
then a little wall of snow,—which we mounted by the side of a little
buttress; and when we struck the ridge descending S.E. from the summit, we
found a little arête of snow leading to the highest point. The summit
itself was little,—very small indeed; it was the loveliest little cone of
snow that was ever piled up on mountain-top; so soft, so pure; it seemed a
crime to defile it; it was a miniature Jungfrau, a toy summit, you could
cover it with the hand.(131)
But there was nothing little about the _view_ from the Mont Dolent.
[Situated at the junction of three mountain ridges, it rises in a positive
steeple far above anything in its immediate neighbourhood; and certain
gaps in the surrounding ridges, which seem contrived for that especial
purpose, extend the view in almost every direction. The precipices which
descend to the Glacier d’Argentière I can only compare to those of the
Jungfrau, and the ridges on both sides of that glacier, especially the
steep rocks of Les Droites and Les Courtes, surmounted by the sharp
snow-peak of the Aig. Verte, have almost the effect of the Grandes
Jorasses. Then, framed, as it were, between the massive tower of the Aig.
de Triolet and the more distant Jorasses, lies, without exception, the
most delicately beautiful picture I have ever seen—the whole _massif_ of
Mont Blanc, raising its great head of snow far above the tangled series of
flying buttresses which uphold the Monts Maudits, supported on the left by
Mont Peuteret and by the mass of ragged aiguilles which overhang the
Brenva. This aspect of Mont Blanc is not new, but from this point its
_pose_ is unrivalled, and it has all the superiority of a picture grouped
by the hand of a master.... The view is as extensive, and far more lovely
than that from Mont Blanc itself.](132)
We went down to Courmayeur, and on the afternoon of July 10 started from
that place to camp on Mont Suc, for the ascent of the Aiguille de
Trélatête; hopeful that the mists which were hanging about would clear
away. They did not, so we deposited ourselves, and a vast load of straw,
on the moraine of the Miage Glacier, just above the Lac de Combal, in a
charming little hole which some solitary shepherd had excavated beneath a
great slab of rock. We spent the night there, and the whole of the next
day, unwilling to run away, and equally so to get into difficulties by
venturing into the mist. It was a dull time, and I grew restless. Reilly
read to me a lecture on the excellence of patience, and composed himself
in an easy attitude, to pore over the pages of a yellow-covered book.
“Patience,” I said to him viciously, “comes readily to fellows who have
shilling novels; but I have not got one; I have picked all the mud out of
the nails of my boots, and have skinned my face; what shall I do?” “Go and
study the moraine of the Miage,” said he. I went, and came back after an
hour. “What news?” cried Reilly, raising himself on his elbow. “Very
little; it’s a big moraine, bigger than I thought, with ridge outside
ridge, like a fortified camp; and there are walls upon it which have been
built and loop-holed, as if for defence.” “Try again,” he said, as he
threw himself on his back. But I went to Croz, who was asleep, and tickled
his nose with a straw until he awoke; and then, as that amusement was
played out, watched Reilly, who was getting numbed, and shifted uneasily
from side to side, and threw himself on his stomach, and rested his head
on his elbows, and lighted his pipe and puffed at it savagely. When I
looked again, how was Reilly? An indistinguishable heap; arms, legs, head,
stones, and straw, all mixed together, his hat flung on one side, his
novel tossed far away! Then I went to him, and read him a lecture on the
excellence of patience.
[Illustration: Portraits of Mr. Reilly on a wet day]
[Illustration: Portraits of Mr. Reilly on a wet day]
[Illustration: Portraits of Mr. Reilly on a wet day]
[Illustration: Portraits of Mr. Reilly on a wet day]
[Illustration: Portraits of Mr. Reilly on a wet day]
Bah! it was a dull time. Our mountain, like a beautiful coquette,
sometimes unveiled herself for a moment, and looked charming above,
although very mysterious below. It was not until eventide she allowed us
to approach her; then, as darkness came on, the curtains were withdrawn,
the light drapery was lifted, and we stole up on tiptoe through the grand
portal formed by Mont Suc. But night advanced rapidly, and we found
ourselves left out in the cold, without a hole to creep into or shelter
from overhanging rock. We might have fared badly, except for our good
plaids. When they were sewn together down their long edges, and one end
tossed over our rope (which was passed round some rocks), and the other
secured by stones, there was sufficient protection; and we slept on this
exposed ridge, 9700 feet above the level of the sea, more soundly,
perhaps, than if we had been lying on feather beds.
[Illustration: OUR CAMP ON MONT SUC.(133)]
We left our bivouac at 4.45 A.M., and at 9.40 arrived upon the highest of
the three summits of the Trélatête, by passing over the lowest one. It was
well above everything at this end of the chain, and the view from it was
extraordinarily magnificent. The whole of the western face of Mont Blanc
was spread out before us; we were the first by whom it had been ever seen.
I cede the description of this view to my comrade, to whom it rightfully
belongs.
[For four years I had felt great interest in the geography of the chain;
the year before I had mapped, more or less successfully, all but this
spot, and this spot had always eluded my grasp. The praises, undeserved as
they were, which my map had received, were as gall and wormwood to me when
I thought of that great slope which I had been obliged to leave a blank,
speckled over with unmeaning dots of rock, gathered from previous maps—for
I had consulted them all without meeting an intelligible representation of
it. From the surface of the Miage glacier I had gained nothing, for I
could only see the feet of magnificent ice-streams, and no more; but now,
from the top of the dead wall of rock which had so long closed my view, I
saw those fine glaciers from top to bottom, pouring down their streams,
nearly as large as the Bossons, from Mont Blanc, from the Bosse, and from
the Dôme.
The head of Mont Blanc is supported on this side by two buttresses,
between which vast glaciers descend. Of these the most southern(134) takes
its rise at the foot of the precipices which fall steeply down from the
Calotte,(135) and its stream, as it joins that of the Miage, is cut in two
by an enormous _rognon_ of rock. Next, to the left, comes the largest of
the buttresses of which I have spoken, almost forming an aiguille in
itself. The next glacier(136) descends from a large basin which receives
the snows of the summit-ridge between the Bosse and the Dome, and it is
divided from the third and last glacier(137) by another buttress, which
joins the summit-ridge at a point between the Dôme and the Aig. de
Bionnassay.]
The great buttresses betwixt these magnificent ice-streams have supplied a
large portion of the enormous masses of débris which are disposed in
ridges round about, and are strewn over, the termination of the Glacier de
Miage in the Val Véni. These moraines(138) used to be classed amongst the
wonders of the world. They are very large for a glacier of the size of the
Miage.
The dimensions of moraines are not ruled by those of glaciers. Many small
glaciers have large moraines,(139) and many large ones have small
moraines. The size of the moraines of any glacier depends mainly upon the
area of rock surface that is exposed to atmospheric influences within the
basin drained by the glacier; upon the nature of such rock,—whether it is
friable or resistant; and upon the dip of strata. Moraines most likely
will be small if little rock surface is exposed; but when large ones are
seen, then, in all probability, large areas of rock, uncovered by snow or
ice, will be found in immediate contiguity to the glacier. The Miage
glacier has large ones, because it receives detritus from many great
cliffs and ridges. But if this glacier, instead of lying, as it does, at
the bottom of a trough, were to fill that trough, if it were to completely
envelope the Aiguille de Trélatête, and the other mountains which border
it, and were to descend from Mont Blanc unbroken by rock or ridge, it
would be as destitute of morainic matter as the great _Mer de Glace_ of
Greenland. For if a country or district is _completely_ covered up by
glacier, the moraines may be of the very smallest dimensions.(140)
The contributions that are supplied to moraines by glaciers themselves,
from the abrasion of the rocks over which their ice passes, are minute
compared with the accumulations which are furnished from other sources.
These great rubbish-heaps are formed, one may say almost entirely, from
débris which falls, or is washed down the flanks of mountains, or from
cliffs bordering glaciers; and are composed, to a very limited extent
only, of matter that is ground, rasped, or filed off by the friction of
the ice.
If the contrary view were to be adopted, if it could be maintained that
“glaciers, _by their motion, break off masses of rock from the sides and
bottoms of their valley courses_, and crowd along every thing that is
movable, so as to form large accumulations of débris in front, and along
their sides,”(141) the conclusion could not be resisted, the greater the
glacier, the greater should be the moraine.
This doctrine does not find much favour with those who have personal
knowledge of what glaciers do at the present time. From De Saussure(142)
downwards it has been pointed out, time after time, that moraines are
chiefly formed from débris coming from rocks or soil _above_ the ice, not
from the bed over which it passes. But amongst the writings of modern
speculators upon glaciers and glacier-action in bygone times, it is not
uncommon to find the notions entertained, that moraines represent the
amount of _excavation_ (such is the term employed) performed by glaciers,
or at least are comprised of matter which has been excavated by glaciers;
that vast moraines have necessarily been produced by vast glaciers; and
that a great extension of glaciers necessarily causes the production of
vast moraines. Such generalisations cannot be sustained.
We descended in our track to the Lac de Combal, and from thence went over
the Col de la Seigne to les Motets, where we slept; on July 13, crossed
the Col du Mont Tondu to Contamines (in a sharp thunderstorm), and the Col
de Voza to Chamounix. Two days only remained for excursions in this
neighbourhood, and we resolved to employ them in another attempt to ascend
the Aiguille d’Argentière, upon which mountain we had been cruelly
defeated just eight days before.
It happened in this way.—Reilly had a notion that the ascent of the
Aiguille could be accomplished by following the ridge leading to its
summit from the Col du Chardonnet. At half-past six, on the morning of the
6th, we found ourselves accordingly on the top of that pass. The party
consisted of our friend Moore and his guide Almer, Reilly and his guide
François Couttet, myself and Michel Croz. So far the weather had been
calm, and the way easy; but immediately we arrived on the summit of the
pass, we got into a furious wind. Five minutes earlier we were warm,—now
we were frozen. Fine snow whirled up into the air penetrated every crack
in our harness, and assailed our skins as painfully as if it had been red
hot instead of freezing cold. The teeth chattered involuntarily—talking
was laborious; the breath froze instantaneously; eating was disagreeable;
sitting was impossible!
We looked towards our mountain. Its aspect was not encouraging. The ridge
that led upwards had a spiked arête, palisaded with miniature aiguilles,
banked up at their bases by heavy snow-beds, which led down, at
considerable angles, on one side towards the Glacier de Saleinoz, on the
other towards the Glacier du Chardonnet. Under any circumstances, it would
have been a stiff piece of work to clamber up that way. Prudence and
comfort counselled, “Give it up.” Discretion overruled valour. Moore and
Almer crossed the Col du Chardonnet to go to Orsières, and we others
returned towards Chamounix.
But when we got some distance down, the evil spirit which prompts men to
ascend mountains tempted us to stop, and to look back at the Aiguille
d’Argentière. The sky was cloudless; no wind could be felt, nor sign of it
perceived; it was only eight o’clock in the morning; and there, right
before us, we saw another branch of the glacier leading high up into the
mountain—far above the Col du Chardonnet—and a little couloir rising from
its head almost to the top of the peak. This was clearly the right route
to take. We turned back, and went at it.
The glacier was steep, and the snow gully rising out of it was steeper.
Seven hundred steps were cut. Then the couloir became _too_ steep. We took
to the rocks on its left, and at last gained the ridge, at a point about
1500 feet above the Col du Chardonnet. We faced about to the right, and
went along the ridge; keeping on some snow a little below its crest, on
the Saleinoz side. Then we got the wind again; yet no one thought of
turning, for we were within 250 feet of the summit.
The axes of Croz and Couttet went to work once more, for the slope was
about as steep as snow-slope could be. Its surface was covered with a
loose, granular crust; dry and utterly incoherent; which slipped away in
streaks directly it was meddled with. The men had to cut through this into
the old beds underneath, and to pause incessantly to rake away the powdery
stuff, which poured down in hissing streams over the hard substratum. Ugh!
how cold it was! How the wind blew! Couttet’s hat was torn from its
fastenings, and went on a tour in Switzerland. The flour-like snow, swept
off the ridge above, was tossed spirally upwards, eddying in _tourmentes_;
then, dropt in lulls, or caught by other gusts, was flung far and wide to
feed the Saleinoz.
“My feet are getting suspiciously numbed,” cried Reilly: “how about
frost-bites?” “Kick hard, sir,” shouted the men; “it’s the only way.”
_Their_ fingers were kept alive by their work; but it was cold for the
feet, and they kicked and hewed simultaneously. I followed their example
too violently, and made a hole clean through my footing. A clatter
followed as if crockery had been thrown down a well.
I went down a step or two, and discovered in a second that all were
standing over a cavern (not a crevasse, speaking properly) that was
bridged over by a thin vault of ice, from which great icicles hung in
groves. Almost in the same minute Reilly pushed one of his hands right
through the roof. The whole party might have tumbled through at any
moment. “Go ahead, Croz, we are over a chasm!” “We know it,” he answered,
“and we can’t find a firm place.”
In the blandest manner, my comrade inquired if to persevere would not be
to do that which is called “tempting Providence.” My reply being in the
affirmative, he further observed, “Suppose we go down?” “Very willingly.”
“Ask the guides.” They had not the least objection; so we went down, and
slept that night at the Montanvert.
Off the ridge we were out of the wind. In fact, a hundred feet down _to
windward_, on the slope fronting the Glacier du Chardonnet, we were
broiling hot; there was not a suspicion of a breeze. Upon that side there
was nothing to tell that a hurricane was raging a hundred feet higher,—the
cloudless sky looked tranquillity itself: whilst to leeward the only sign
of a disturbed atmosphere was the friskiness of the snow upon the crests
of the ridges.
We set out on the 14th, with Croz, Payot, and Charlet, to finish off the
work which had been cut short so abruptly, and slept, as before, at the
Chalets de Lognan. On the 15th, about midday, we arrived upon the summit
of the aiguille, and found that we had actually been within one hundred
feet of it when we turned back upon the first attempt.
It was a triumph to Reilly. In this neighbourhood he had performed the
feat (in 1863) of joining together “two mountains, each about 13,000 feet
high, standing on the map about a mile and a half apart.” Long before we
made the ascent he had procured evidence which could not be impugned, that
the Pointe des Plines, a fictitious summit which had figured on other maps
as a distinct mountain, could be no other than the Aiguille d’Argentière,
and he had accordingly obliterated it from the preliminary draft of his
map. We saw that it was right to do so. The Pointe des Plines did not
exist. We had ocular demonstration of the accuracy of his previous
observations.
I do not know which to admire most, the fidelity of Mr. Reilly’s map, or
the indefatigable industry by which the materials were accumulated from
which it was constructed. To men who are sound in limb it may be amusing
to arrive on a summit (as we did upon the top of Mont Dolent), sitting
astride a ridge too narrow to stand upon; or to do battle with a ferocious
wind (as we did on the top of the Aiguille de Trélatête); or to feel
half-frozen in midsummer (as we did on the Aiguille d’Argentière). But
there is extremely little amusement in making sketches and notes under
such conditions. Yet upon all these expeditions, under the most adverse
circumstances, and in the most trying situations, Mr. Reilly’s brain and
fingers were always at work. Throughout all he was ever alike; the same
genial, equable-tempered companion, whether victorious or whether
defeated; always ready to sacrifice his own desires to suit our comfort
and convenience. By a happy union of audacity and prudence, combined with
untiring perseverance, he eventually completed his self-imposed task—a
work which would have been intolerable except as a labour of love—and
which, for a single individual, may well-nigh be termed Herculean.
We separated upon the level part of the Glacier d’Argentière, Reilly going
with Payot and Charlet _viâ_ the chalets of Lognan and de la Pendant,
whilst I, with Croz, followed the right bank of the glacier to the village
of Argentière.(143) At 7 P.M. we entered the humble inn, and ten minutes
afterwards heard the echoes of the cannon which were fired upon the
arrival of our comrades at Chamounix.(144)