My guide Bennen reached the Grimsel the following morning. Uncertain
of my own movements, I had permitted him this year to make a new
engagement, which he was now on his way to fulfil. As a mountaineer,
Bennen had no superior, and he added to his strength, courage, and
skill, the qualities of a natural gentleman. He was now ready to bear
us company over the Oberaarjoch to the Æggischhorn. On the morning
of the 22nd we bade the cheerless Grimsel inn good-bye, reached the
Unteraar glacier, crossed its load of uncomfortable moraine shingle,
and clambered up the slopes at the other side. Nestled aloft in a
higher valley was the Oberaar glacier, along the unruffled surface of
which our route lay.
The morning threatened, and fitful gleams of sunlight wandered over
the ice. The Joch was swathed in mist, which now and then gave way,
permitting a wild radiance to shoot over the top. On the windy summit
we took a mouthful of food and roped ourselves together. Here, as in
a hundred other places, I sought in the fog for the vesicles of De
Saussure, but failed to find them. Bennen, as long as we were on the
Berne side of the col, permitted Jaun to take the lead; but now we
looked into Wallis, or rather into the fog which filled it, and he, as
Wallis guide, came to the front. I knew the Viesch glacier well, but
how Bennen meant to unravel its difficulties without landmarks I knew
not. I asked him whether, if the fog continued, he could make his way
down the glacier. There was a pleasant _timbre_ in Bennen’s voice, a
light and depth in his smile, due to the blending together of conscious
strength and warm affection. With this smile he turned round and said,
‘Herr, ich bin hier zu Hause. Der Viescher Gletscher ist meine Heimath.’
Downwards we went, striking the rocks of the Rothhorn so as to avoid
the riven ice. Suddenly we passed from dense fog into clear air: we had
crossed ‘the cloud-plane,’ and found a transparent atmosphere between
it and the glacier. The dense covering above us was sometimes torn
asunder by the wind, which whirled the detached cloud-tufts round the
peaks. Contending air-currents were thus revealed, and thunder, which
is the common associate, if not the product, of such contention, began
to rattle among the crags. At first the snow upon the glacier was
sufficiently heavy to bridge the crevasses, thus permitting of rapid
motion; but by degrees the fissures opened, and at length drove us to
the rocks. These in their turn became impracticable. Dropping down a
waterfall well known to the climbers of this region, we came again upon
the ice, which was here cut by complex chasms. These we unravelled as
long as necessary, and finally escaped from them to the mountain-side.
The first big drops of a thunder-shower were already falling when we
reached an overhanging crag which gave us shelter. We quitted it too
soon, beguiled by a treacherous gleam of blue, and were thoroughly
drenched before we reached the Æggischhorn.
This was my last excursion with Bennen. In the month of February of
the following year he was killed by an avalanche on the Haut de Cry, a
mountain near Sion.[16]
[16] Bennen’s death is described in Chapter XVIII. A liberal collection
was made in England for his mother and sisters; and Mr. Hawkins, Mr.
Tuckett, and myself had a small monument erected to his memory in Ernan
churchyard. The supervision of the work was entrusted to a clerical
friend of Bennen’s, who made but a poor use of his trust.
Having work to execute, I remained at the Æggischhorn for nearly a
month in 1863. My favourite place for rest and writing was a point on
the mountain-side about an hour westwards from the hotel, where the
mighty group of the Mischabel, the Matterhorn, and the Weisshorn were
in full view. One day I remained in this position longer than usual,
held by the fascination of the setting sun. The mountains had stood
out nobly clear during the entire day, but towards evening, upon the
Dom, a singular cloud settled, which was finally drawn into a long
streamer by the wind. Nothing can be finer than the effect of the red
light of sunset on those streamers of cloud. Incessantly dissipated,
but ever renewed, they glow with the intensity of flames. By-and-by the
banner broke, resembling in its action that of a liquid cylinder when
unduly stretched, forming a series of crimson cloud-balls which were
united by slender filaments of fire. I waited for this glory to fade
into a deadly pallor before I thought of returning to the hotel.
On arriving there I found discussed with eager interest the fate of
two ladies and a gentleman, who had quitted the hotel in the morning
without a guide, and who were now, it was said, lost on the mountain.
‘I recommended them,’ said Herr Wellig, the landlord, ‘to take a guide,
but they would not heed me.’ I asked him what force he had at hand.
Three active young fellows came immediately forward. Two of them I
sent across the mountain by the usual route to the Märjelin See, and
the third I took with myself along the watercourse of the Æggischhorn.
After some walking we dipped into a little dell, where the glucking of
cowbells announced the existence of chalets. The party had been seen
passing there in the morning, but not returning. The embankment of
the watercourse fell at some places vertically for twenty or thirty
feet. Here I thought an awkward slip might have occurred, and, to meet
the possibility of having to carry a wounded man, I took an additional
lithe young fellow from the chalet.
We shouted as we went along, but the echoes were our only response. Our
pace was rapid, and in the dubious light false steps were frequent.
We all at intervals mistook the grey water for the grey and narrow
track beside it, and stepped into the stream. We proposed ascending
to the chalets of Märjelin, but previous to quitting the watercourse
we halted, and, directing our voices down hill, shouted a last shout.
And faintly up the mountain came a sound which could not be an echo.
We all heard it, though it could hardly be detached from the murmur of
the adjacent stream. We went rapidly down the Alp, and after a little
time shouted again. More audible than before, but still very faint,
came the answer from below. We continued at a headlong pace, and soon
assured ourselves that the sound was not only that of a human voice,
but of an English voice. Thus stimulated, we swerved to the left, and,
regardless of a wetting, dashed through the torrent which tumbles from
the Märjelin See. Close to the Viesch glacier we found the objects of
our search--the two ladies, tired out, seated upon the threshold of a
forsaken chalet, and the gentleman seated on a rock beside them.
He was both an experienced climber and a brave man, but he had started
with a sprained ankle, and every visitor knows how bewildering the
spurs of the Æggischhorn are, even to those whose tendons are sound.
Thus weakened, he was overtaken by the night, lost his way, and, in
his efforts to extricate himself, had experienced one or two serious
tumbles. Finally, giving up the attempt, he had resigned himself to
spending the night where we found him. The ladies were quite tired
out, and to reach the Æggischhorn that night was out of the question.
I tried the chalet door and found it locked, but an ice-axe soon hewed
the bolt away, and forced an entrance. There was some pinewood within,
and some old hay, which, under the circumstances, formed a delicious
couch for the ladies. In a few minutes a fire was blazing and crackling
in the chimney corner. Having thus secured them, I returned to the
chalets first passed, sent them bread, butter, cheese, and milk, and
had the lively gratification of seeing them return safe and sound to
the hotel next morning.