PASSAGE OF THE COL DE TRIOLET, AND ASCENTS OF MONT DOLENT, AIGUILLE DE
TRÉLATÊTE AND AIGUILLE D’ARGENTIÈRE.
Ten years ago very few people knew from personal knowledge how
extremely inaccurately the chain of Mont Blanc was delineated. During
the previous half century thousands had made the tour of the chain, and
in that time 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
as 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 one thousand 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 fror 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.
The district surveyed by Forbes remained a solitary bright spot in a
region where all besides was darkness until the year 1861. Praiseworthy
attempts were made by different hands to throw light upon the gloom,
but these efforts were ineffectual, and showed how labor may be thrown
away by a number of observers working independently without the
direction of a single head.
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 characterizes 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.
Strong hands were needed to complete the survey, and it was not long
before the right men appeared.
In 1863, Mr. Adams-Reilly, who had been traveling 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 two hundred 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 two hundred 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.
Before I pass on to these expeditions it will be convenient to devote a
few paragraphs 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. But
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 ascent of Mont Blanc has been made from several directions, 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.[24] 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.
[24] Besides Mont Blanc itself.
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.
We slept under some big rocks on the Couvercle on the night of July 7,
with the thermometer at 26.5° Fahr., 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
toward 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, firm rocks, and then by a
branch of the Glacier de Triolet. Schrunds[25] 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, but in the aggregate they
far surpassed it. “Our lives,” so Reilly expressed it, “were made a
burden to us with schrunds.”
[25] Great crevasses. A bergschrund is a schrund, but something more.
(See Chap. xiv.)
Several spurs run out toward the south-east from the ridge at the head
of the Glacier de Triolet, and divide it into a number of bays. We
descended the most northern of these, and when we emerged from it on to
the open glacier, just at the junction of our bay with the next one, we
came across a most beautiful ice-arch festooned with icicles, the
decaying remnant of an old sérac, which stood isolated full thirty feet
above the surface of the glacier! It was an accident, and I have not
seen its like elsewhere. When I passed the spot in 1865 no vestige of
it remained.
We flattered ourselves that we should arrive at the châlets of Pre 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.
We occupied the 9th with the ascent of the 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
south-east 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.
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 neighborhood, 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’Argentiere 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 Aiguille Verte, have almost the effect of
the Grandes Jorasses. Then, framed as it were between the massive tower
of the Aiguille 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 overhangs the Brenva. This aspect of Mont Blanc is not
new, but from this point its _pose_ is unrivaled, and it has all the
superiority of a picture grouped by the hand of a master…The view is as
extensive as, and far more lovely than, that from Mont Blanc
itself.][26]
[26] The bracketed paragraphs in this chapter are extracted from the
notes of Mr. Reilly.
We went down to Cormayeur, and on the afternoon of July 10 started from
that place to camp on Mont Sue, 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 very
easy 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 loopholed, 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]
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
Bah! it was a dull time. Our mountain, like a beautiful coquette, some
times 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 framed 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. But 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, ninety-seven hundred 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]
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, but 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 takes
its rise at the foot of the precipices which fall steeply down from the
Calotte,[27] 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 (Glacier du Dôme) descends from a
large basin which receives the snows of the summit-ridge between the
Bosse and the Dôme, and it is divided from the third and last glacier
by another buttress, which joins the summit-ridge at a point between
the Dôme and the Aiguille de Bionnassay.]
[27] The Calotte is the name given to the dome of snow at the summit
of Mont Blanc.
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 Veni. These moraines[28] used to be
classed amongst the wonders of the world. They are very large for a
glacier of the size of the Miage.
[28] An example is referred to on p. 161. Much more remarkable cases
might be instanced.
The dimensions of moraines are not ruled by those of glaciers. _Many_
small glaciers have large moraines, 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 envelop 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.
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 everything that
is movable, so as to form large accumulations of débris in front and
along their sides,”[29] the conclusion could not be resisted, the
greater the glacier the greater should be the moraine.
[29] _Atlas of Physical Geography_, by Augustus Petermann and the Rev.
T. Milner. The italics are not in the original.
This doctrine does not find much favor with those who have personal
knowledge of what glaciers do at the present time. From De Saussure[30]
downward 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—a glacial
period—necessarily causes the production of vast moraines. It is
needless to cite more than one or two examples to show that such
generalizations cannot be sustained. Innumerable illustrations might be
quoted.
[30] “The stones that are found upon the upper extremities of glaciers
are of the same nature as the mountains which rise above; but, as the
ice carries them down into the valleys, they arrive between rocks of a
totally different nature from their own.”—De Saussure, § 536.
In the chain of Mont Blanc one may compare the moraines of the Miage
with those of the Glacier d’Argentiere. The latter glacier drains a
basin equal to or exceeding that of the former, but its moraines are
small compared with those of the former. More notable still is the
disparity of the moraines of the Corner glacier (that which receives so
many branches from the neighborhood of Monte Rosa) and of the
Z’Muttgletscher. The area drained by the Corner greatly exceeds the
basin of the Z’Mutt, yet the moraines of the Z’Mutt are incomparably
larger than those of the Corner. No one is likely to say that the
Z’Mutt and Miage glaciers have existed for a far greater length of time
than the other pair: an explanation must be sought amongst the causes
to which reference has been made.
More striking still is it to see the great interior _Mer de Glace_ of
Greenland almost without moraines. This vast ice-plateau, although
smaller than it was in former times, is still so extensive that the
whole of the glaciers of the Alps might be merged into it without its
bulk being perceptibly increased. If the size of moraines bore any sort
of relation to the size of glaciers, the moraines of Greenland should
be far greater than those of the Alps.
This interior ice-reservoir of Greenland, enormous as it is, must be
considered as but the remnant of a mass which was incalculably greater,
and which is unparalleled at the present time outside the Antarctic
Circle. With the exception of localities where the rocks are easy of
disintegration, and the traces of glacier-action have been to a great
extent destroyed, the whole country bears the marks of the grinding and
polishing of ice; and, judging by the flatness of the curves of the
_roches moutonnées_, and by the perfection of the polish which still
remains upon the rocks after they have sustained (through many
centuries) extreme variations of temperature, the period during which
such effects were produced must have widely exceeded in duration the
“glacial period” of Europe. If moraines were built from matter
excavated by glaciers, the moraines of Greenland should be the greatest
in the world!
The absence of moraines upon and at the termination of this great _Mer
de Glace_ is due to the want of rocks rising above the ice.[31] On two
occasions in 1867 I saw, at a glance, at least six hundred square miles
of it from the summits of small mountains on its outskirts. Not a
single peak or ridge was to be seen rising above, nor a single rock
reposing upon, the ice. The country was _completely_ covered up by
glacier: all was ice as far as the eye could see.[32]
[31] I refer to those portions of it which I have seen in the
neighbourhood of Disco Bay. There are moraines in this district, but
they were formed when the great _Mer de Glace_ stretched nearer to the
sea,—when it sent arms down through the valleys in the belt of land
which now intervenes between sea and glacier.
[32] The interior of Greenland appears to be absolutely covered by
glacier between 68° 30′—70° N. Lat. Others speak of peaks peeping
through the ice to the N. and S. of this district; but I suspect that
these peaks are upon the outskirts of the great _Mer de Glace_.
There is evidence, then, that considerable areas of exposed
rock-surface are essential to the production of large moraines, and
that glacial periods do not necessarily produce vast moraines—that
moraines are not built up of matter which is excavated by glaciers, but
simply illustrate the powers of glaciers for transportation and
arrangement.
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 neighborhood, and we resolved to employ them in another attempt
to ascend the Aiguille d’Argentiere, 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, which
is about eleven thousand or eleven thousand one hundred feet above the
level of the sea. The party consisted of our friend Moore and his guide
Almer, Reilly and his guide Francois 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 toward our mountain: its aspect was not encouraging. The
ridge that led upward 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 toward the Glacier de Saleinoz, on
the other toward the Glacier du Chardonnet. Under any circumstances it
would have been a stiff piece of work to clamber up that way. Prudence
and comfort counseled, “Give it up.” Discretion overruled valor. Moore
and Almer crossed the Col du Chardonnet to go to Orsières, and we
others returned toward 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’Argentiere. The sky was cloudless; no wind could be felt, nor sign of
it perceived; it was only eight o’clock in the morning; and here, right
before us, we saw another branch of the glacier leading high up nto 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 fifteen hundred feet above the col. 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, but no one
thought of turning, for we were within two hundred and fifty feet of
the summit.
The axes of Croz and Couttet went to work once more, for the slope was
about as steep as snow 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 upward,
eddying in _tourmentes;_ then, dropped 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
their feet, and they kicked and hewed simultaneously. I followed their
example, but was too violent, 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
grooves. 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 neighborhood he had performed the
feat (in 1863) of joining together “two mountains, each about thirteen
thousand 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’Argentiere, 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’Argentiere). 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
most 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 labor of love, and which,
for a single individual, may wellnigh be termed herculean.
We separated upon the level part of the Glacier d’Argentiere, Reilly
going with Payot and Charlet _viâ_ the châlets of Lognan and de la
Pendant, whilst I, with Croz, followed the right bank of the glacier to
the village of Argentiere. At 7 P. M. we entered the humble inn, and
ten minutes afterward heard the echoes of the cannon which were fired
upon the arrival of our comrades at Chamounix.