DESCENT OF THE MATTERHORN.
Hudson and I again consulted as to the best and safest arrangement of
the party. We agreed that it would be best for Croz to go first,[78]
and Hadow second; Hudson, who was almost equal to a guide in sureness
of foot, wished to be third; Lord F. Douglas was placed next, and old
Peter, the strongest of the remainder, after him. I suggested to Hudson
that we should attach a rope to the rocks on our arrival at the
difficult bit, and hold it as we descended, as an additional
protection. He approved the idea, but it was not definitely settled
that it should be done. The party was being arranged in the above order
whilst I was sketching the summit, and they had finished, and were
waiting for me to be tied in line, when some one remembered that our
names had not been left in a bottle. They requested me to write them
down, and moved off while it was being done.
[78] If the members of the party had been more equally efficient, Croz
would have been placed _last_.
A few minutes afterward I tied myself to young Peter, ran down after
the others, and caught them just as they were commencing the descent of
the difficult part.[79] Great care was being taken. Only one man was
moving at a time: when he was firmly planted, the next advanced, and so
on. They had not, however, attached the additional rope to rocks, and
nothing was said about it. The suggestion was not made for my own sake,
and I am not sure that it even occurred to me again. For some little
distance we two followed the others, detached from them, and should
have continued so had not Lord F. Douglas asked me, about 3 P.M. to tie
on to old Peter, as he feared, he said, that Taugwalder would not be
able to hold his ground if a slip occurred.
[79] Described upon pp. 388-9.
A few minutes later a sharp-eyed lad ran into the Monte Rosa hotel to
Seiler, saying that he had seen an avalanche fall from the summit of
the Matterhorn on to the Matterhorngletscher. The boy was reproved for
telling idle stories: he was right, nevertheless, and this was what he
saw.
Michel Croz had laid aside his axe, and in order to give Mr. Hadow
greater security was absolutely taking hold of his legs and putting his
feet, one by one, into their proper positions.[80] As far as I know, no
one was actually descending. I cannot speak with certainty, because the
two leading men were partially hidden from my sight by an intervening
mass of rock, but it is my belief, from the movements of their
shoulders, that Croz, having done as I have said, was in the act of
turning round to go down a step or two himself: at this moment Mr.
Hadow slipped, fell against him and knocked him over. I heard one
startled exclamation from Croz, then saw him and Mr. Hadow flying
downward: in another moment Hudson was dragged from his steps, and Lord
F. Douglas immediately after him.[81] All this was the work of a
moment. Immediately we heard Croz’s exclamation, old Peter and I
planted ourselves as firmly as the rocks would permit:[82] the rope was
taut between us, and the jerk came on us both as on one man. We held,
but the rope broke midway between Taugwalder and Lord Francis Douglas.
For a few seconds we saw our unfortunate companions sliding downward on
their backs, and spreading out their hands, endeavoring to save
themselves. They passed from our sight uninjured, disappeared one by
one, and fell from precipice to precipice on to the Matterhorngletscher
below, a distance of nearly four thousand feet in height. From the
moment the rope broke it was impossible to help them.
[80] Not at all an unusual proceeding, even between born mountaineers.
I wish to convey the impression that Croz was using all pains, rather
than to indicate extreme inability on the part of Mr. Hadow. The
insertion of the word ‘absolutely’ makes the passage, perhaps, rather
ambiguous. I retain it now, in order to offer the above explanation.
[81] At the moment of the accident, Croz, Hadow, and Hudson, were all
close together. Between Hudson and Lord F. Douglas the rope was all
but taut, and the same between all the others who were _above_. Croz
was standing by the side of a rock which afforded good hold, and if he
had been aware, or had suspected, that anything was about to occur, he
might and would have gripped it, and would have prevented any
mischief. He was taken totally by surprise. Mr. Hadow slipped off his
feet on to his back, his feet struck Croz in the small of the back,
and knocked him right over, head first. Croz’s axe was out of his
reach, and without it he managed to get his head uppermost before he
disappeared from our sight. If it had been in his hand I have no doubt
that he would have stopped himself and Mr. Hadow.
Mr. Hadow, at the moment of the slip, was not occupying a bad
position. He could have moved either up or down, and could touch
with his hand the rock of which I have spoken. Hudson was not so
well placed, but he had liberty of motion. The rope was not taut
from him to Hadow, and the two men fell ten or twelve feet before
the jerk came upon him. Lord F. Douglas was not favourably placed,
and could neither move up nor down. Old Peter was firmly planted,
and stood just beneath a large rock which he hugged with both arms.
I enter into these details to make it more apparent that the
position occupied by the party at the moment of the accident was
not by any means excessively trying. We were compelled to pass over
the exact spot where the slip occurred, and we found—even with
shaken nerves—that _it_ was not a difficult place to pass. I have
described the _slope generally_ as difficult, and it is so
undoubtedly to most persons; but it must be distinctly understood
that Mr. Hadow slipped at an easy part.
[82] Or, more correctly, we held on as tightly as possible. There was
no time to change our position.
[Illustration: ROPE BROKEN ON THE MATTERHORN.]
So perished our comrades! For the space of half an hour we remained on
the spot without moving a single step. The two men, paralyzed by
terror, cried like infants, and trembled in such a manner as to
threaten us with the fate of the others. Old Peter rent the air with
exclamations of “Chamounix!—oh, what will Chamounix say?” He meant, Who
would believe that Croz could fall?
The young man did nothing but scream or sob, “We are lost! we are
lost!” Fixed between the two, I could move neither up nor down. I
begged young Peter to descend, but he dared not. Unless he did, we
could not advance. Old Peter became alive to the danger, and swelled
the cry, “We are lost! we are lost!” The father’s fear was natural—he
trembled for his son; the young man’s fear was cowardly—he thought of
self alone. At last old Peter summoned up courage, and changed his
position to a rock to which he could fix the rope: the young man then
descended, and we all stood together. Immediately we did so, I asked
for the rope which had given way, and found, to my surprise—indeed, to
my horror—that it was the weakest of the three ropes. It was not
brought, and should not have been employed, for the purpose for which
it was used. It was old rope, and, compared with the others, was
feeble. It was intended as a reserve, in case we had to leave much rope
behind attached to rocks. I saw at once that a serious question was
involved, and made them give me the end. It had broken in mid-air, and
it did not appear to have sustained previous injury.
For more than two hours afterward I thought almost every moment that
the next would be my last, for the Taugwalders, utterly unnerved, were
not only incapable of giving assistance, but were in such a state that
a slip might have been expected from them at any moment. After a time
we were able to do that which should have been done at first, and fixed
rope to firm rocks, in addition to being tied together. These ropes
were cut from time to time, and were left behind.[83] Even with their
assurance the men were afraid to proceed, and several times old Peter
turned with ashy face and faltering limbs, and said with terrible
emphasis, _“I cannot!”_
[83] These ends, I believe, are still attached to the rocks, and mark
our line of ascent and descent.
About 6 P.M. we arrived at the snow upon the ridge descending toward
Zermatt, and all peril was over. We frequently looked, but in vain, for
traces of our unfortunate companions: we bent over the ridge and cried
to them, but no sound returned. Convinced at last that they were within
neither sight nor hearing, we ceased from our useless efforts, and, too
cast down for speech, silently gathered up our things and the little
effects of those who were lost, preparatory to continuing the descent.
When lo! a mighty arch appeared, rising above the Lyskamm high into the
sky. Pale, colorless and noiseless, but perfectly sharp and defined,
except where it was lost in the clouds, this unearthly apparition
seemed like a vision from another world, and almost appalled we watched
with amazement the gradual development of two vast crosses, one on
either side. If the Taugwalders had not been the first to perceive it,
I should have doubted my senses. They thought it had some connection
with the accident, and I, after a while, that it might bear some
relation to ourselves. But our movements had no effect upon it. The
spectral forms remained motionless. It was a fearful and wonderful
sight, unique in my experience, and impressive beyond description,
coming at such a moment.[84]
[84] See Frontispiece. I paid very little attention to this remarkable
phenomenon, and was glad when it disappeared, as it distracted our
attention. Under ordinary circumstances I should have felt vexed
afterwards at not having observed with greater precision an occurrence
so rare and so wonderful. I can add very little about it to that which
is said above. The sun was directly at our backs; that is to say, the
fog-bow was opposite to the sun. The time was 6.30 P.M. The forms were
at once tender and sharp; neutral in tone; were developed gradually,
and disappeared suddenly. The mists were light (that is, not dense),
and were dissipated in the course of the evening.
It has been suggested that the crosses are incorrectly figured in
the Frontispiece, and that they were probably formed by the
intersection of other circles or ellipses, as shown in the annexed
diagram. I think this suggestion is very likely correct; but I have
preferred to follow my original memorandum.
In Parry’s _Narrative of an Attempt to reach the North Pole_, 4to,
1828, there is, at pp. 99-100, an account of the occurrence of a
phenomenon analogous to the above-mentioned one. “At half-past five
P.M. we witnessed a very beautiful natural phenomenon. A broad
white fog-bow first appeared opposite to the sun, as was very
commonly the case,” etc. I follow Parry in using the term fog-bow.
It may be observed that, upon the descent of the Italian guides
(whose expedition is noticed upon p. 393, and again in the
Appendix), upon July 17th, 1865, the phenomenon commonly termed the
Brocken was observed. The following is the account given by the
Abbé Amé Gorret in the _Feuille d’Aoste_, October 31, 1865:—“Nous
étions sur l’épaule (the ‘shoulder’) quand nous remarquâmes un
phénomène qui nous fit plaisir; le nuage était très-dense du côté
de Valtornanche, c’était serein en Suisse; nous nous vîmes au
milieu d’un cercle aux couleurs de l’arc-en-ciel; ce mirage nous
formait à tous une couronne au milieu de laquelle nous voyions
notre ombre.” This occurred at about 6.30 to 7 P.M., and the
Italians in mention were at about the same height as
ourselves—namely, 14,000 feet.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: FOG-BOW SEEN FROM THE MATTERHORN ON JULY 14, 1885.]
I was ready to leave, and waiting for the others. They had recovered
their appetites and the use of their tongues. They spoke in patois,
which I did not understand. At length the son said in French,
“Monsieur.” “Yes.” “We are poor men; we have lost our Herr; we shall
not get paid; we can ill afford this.”[85] “Stop!” I said, interrupting
him—“that is nonsense: I shall pay you, of course, just as if your Herr
were here.” They talked together in their patois for a short time, and
then the son spoke again: “We don’t wish you to pay us. We wish you to
write in the hotel-book at Zermatt and to your journals that we have
not been paid.” “What nonsense are you talking? I don’t understand you.
What do you mean?” He proceeded: “Why, next year there will be many
travelers at Zermatt, and we shall get more _voyageurs._”
[85] They had been travelling with, and had been engaged by, Lord F.
Douglas, and so considered him their employer, and responsible to
them.
[Illustration: MONSIEUR ALEX. SEILER.]
Who would answer such a proposition? I made them no reply in words,[86]
but they knew very well the indignation that I felt. They filled the
cup of bitterness to overflowing, and I tore down the cliff madly and
recklessly, in a way that caused them, more than once, to inquire if I
wished to kill them. Night fell, and for an hour the descent was
continued in the darkness. At half-past nine a resting-place was found,
and upon a wretched slab, barely large enough to hold the three, we
passed six miserable hours. At daybreak the descent was resumed, and
from the Hörnli ridge we ran down to the châlets of Buhl and on to
Zermatt. Seiler met me at his door, and followed in silence to my room:
“What is the matter?” “The Taugwalders and I have returned.” He did not
need more, and burst into tears, but lost no time in useless
lamentations, and set to work to arouse the village. Ere long a score
of men had started to ascend the Hohlicht heights, above Kalbermatt and
Z’Mutt, which commanded the plateau of the Matterhorngletscher. They
returned after six hours, and reported that they had seen the bodies
lying motionless on the snow. This was on Saturday, and they proposed
that we should leave on Sunday evening, so as to arrive upon the
plateau at daybreak on Monday. Unwilling to lose the slightest chance,
the Rev. J. M’Cormick and I resolved to start on Sunday morning. The
Zermatt men, threatened with excommunication by their priests if they
failed to attend the early mass, were unable to accompany us. To
several of them, at least, this was a severe trial, and Peter Perm
declared with tears that nothing else would have prevented him from
joining in the search for his old comrades. Englishmen came to our aid.
The Rev. J. Robertson and Mr. J. Phillpotts offered themselves and
their guide, Franz Andermatten: another Englishman lent us Joseph Marie
and Alexandre Lochmatter. Frédéric Payot and Jean Tairraz of Chamounix
also volunteered.
[86] Nor did I speak to them afterwards, unless it was absolutely
necessary, so long as we were together.
[Illustration: THE MANILA ROPE[87]]
[87] The three ropes have been reduced by photography to the same
scale.
We started at 2 A.M. on Sunday, the 16th, and followed the route that
we had taken on the previous Thursday as far as the Hörnli. From thence
we went down to the right of the ridge, and mounted through the
_séracs_ of the Matterhorngletscher. By 8.30 we had got to the plateau
at the top of the glacier, and within sight of the corner in which we
knew my companions must be. As we saw one weather-beaten man after
another raise the telescope, turn deadly pale and pass it on without a
word to the next, we knew that all hope was gone. We approached. They
had fallen below as they had fallen above—Croz a little in advance,
Hadow near him, and Hudson some distance behind, but of Lord F. Douglas
we could see nothing.[88] We left them where they fell, buried in snow
at the base of the grandest cliff of the most majestic mountain of the
Alps.
[88] A pair of gloves, a belt, and boot that had belonged to him were
found. This, somehow, became publicly known, and gave rise to wild
notions, which would not have been entertained had it been also known
that the _whole_ of the boots of those who had fallen _were off_, and
were lying upon the snow near the bodies.
All those who had fallen had been tied with the Manila, or with the
second and equally strong rope, and consequently there had been only
one link —that between old Peter and Lord F. Douglas—where the weaker
rope had been used. This had a very ugly look for Taugwalder, for it
was not possible to suppose that the others would have sanctioned the
employment of a rope so greatly inferior in strength when there were
more than two hundred and fifty feet of the better qualities still out
of use.[89] For the sake of the old guide (who bore a good reputation),
and upon all other accounts, it was desirable that this matter should
be cleared up; and after my examination before the court of inquiry
which was instituted by the government was over, I handed in a number
of questions which were framed so as to afford old Peter an opportunity
of exculpating himself from the grave suspicions which at once fell
upon him. The questions, I was told, were put and answered, but the
answers, although promised, have never reached me.[90]
[89] I was one hundred feet or more from the others whilst they were
being tied up, and am unable to throw any light on the matter. Croz
and old Peter no doubt tied up the others.
[90] This is not the only occasion upon which M. Clemenz (who presided
over the inquiry) has failed to give up answers that he has promised.
It is greatly to be regretted that he does not feel that the
suppression of the truth is equally against the interests of
travellers and of the guides. If the men are untrustworthy, the public
should be warned of the fact; but if they are blameless, why allow
them to remain under unmerited suspicion?
Old Peter Taugwalder is a man who is labouring under an unjust
accusation. Notwithstanding repeated denials, even his comrades and
neighbours at Zermatt persist in asserting or insinuating that he
_cut_ the rope which led from him to Lord F. Douglas. In regard to
this infamous charge, I say that he _could_ not do so at the moment
of the slip, and that the end of the rope in my possession shows
that he did not do so beforehand. There remains, however, the
suspicious fact that the rope which broke was the thinnest and
weakest one that we had. It is suspicious, because it is unlikely
that any of the four men in front would have selected an old and
weak rope when there was abundance of new, and much stronger, rope
to spare; and, on the other hand, because if Taugwalder thought
that an accident was likely to happen, it was to his interest to
have the weaker rope where it was placed.
I should rejoice to learn that his answers to the questions which
were put to him were satisfactory. Not only was his act at the
critical moment wonderful as a feat of strength, but it was
admirable in its performance at the right time. I am told that he
is now nearly incapable for work—not absolutely mad, but with
intellect gone and almost crazy; which is not to be wondered at,
whether we regard him as a man who contemplated a scoundrelly
meanness, or as an injured man suffering under an unjust
accusation.
In respect to young Peter, it is not possible to speak in the same
manner. The odious idea that he propounded (which I believe
emanated from _him_) he has endeavoured to trade upon, in spite of
the fact that his father was paid (for both) in the presence of
witnesses. Whatever may be his abilities as a guide, he is not one
to whom I would ever trust my life, or afford any countenance.
Meanwhile, the administration sent strict injunctions to recover the
bodies, and upon the 19th of July twenty-one men of Zermatt
accomplished that sad and dangerous task. Of the body of Lord Francis
Douglas they too saw nothing: it is probably still arrested on the
rocks above.[91] The remains of Hudson and Hadow were interred upon the
north side of the Zermatt church, in the presence of a reverent crowd
of sympathizing friends. The body of Michel Croz lies upon the other
side, under a simpler tomb, whose inscription bears honorable testimony
to his rectitude, to his courage and to his devotion.[92]
[91] This, or a subsequent party, discovered a sleeve. No other traces
have been found.
[92] At the instance of Mr. Alfred Wills, a subscription list was
opened for the benefit of the sisters of Michel Croz, who had been
partly dependent upon his earnings. In a short time more than £280
were raised. This was considered sufficient, and the list was closed.
The proceeds were invested in French Rentes (by Mr. William Mathews),
at the recommendation of M. Dupui, at that time Maire of Chamounix.
[Illustration: THE SECOND ROPE]
So the traditional inaccessibility of the Matterhorn was vanquished,
and was replaced by legends of a more real character. Others will essay
to scale its proud cliffs, but to none will it be the mountain that it
was to its early explorers. Others may tread its summit-snows, but none
will ever know the feelings of those who first gazed upon its marvelous
panorama, and none, I trust, will ever be compelled to tell of joy
turned into grief, and of laughter into mourning. It proved to be a
stubborn foe; it resisted long and gave many a hard blow; it was
defeated at last with an ease that none could have anticipated, but,
like a relentless enemy conquered but not crushed, it took terrible
vengeance. The time may come when the Matterhorn shall have passed
away, and nothing save a heap of shapeless fragments will mark the spot
where the great mountain stood, for, atom by atom, inch by inch, and
yard by yard, it yields to forces which nothing can withstand. That
time is far distant, and ages hence generations unborn will gaze upon
its awful precipices and wonder at its unique form. However exalted may
be their ideas and however exaggerated their expectations, none will
come to return disappointed!
The play is over, and the curtain is about to fall. Before we part, a
word upon the graver teachings of the mountains. See yonder height!
’Tis far away—unbidden comes the word “Impossible!” “Not so,” says the
mountaineer. “The way is long, I know: it’s difficult—it may be
dangerous. It’s possible, I’m sure: I’ll seek the way, take counsel of
my brother mountaineers, and find how they have gained similar heights
and learned to avoid the dangers.” He starts (all slumbering down
below): the path is slippery—maybe laborious too. Caution and
perseverance gain the day—the height is reached! and those beneath cry,
“Incredible! ’tis superhuman!”
We who go mountain-scrambling have constantly set before us the
superiority of fixed purpose or perseverance to brute force. We know
that each height, each step, must be gained by patient, laborious toil,
and that wishing cannot take the place of working: we know the benefits
of mutual aid—that many a difficulty must be encountered, and many an
obstacle must be grappled with or turned; but we know that where
there’s a will there’s a way; and we come back to our daily occupations
better fitted to fight the battle of life and to overcome the
impediments which obstruct our paths, strengthened and cheered by the
recollection of past labors and by the memories of victories gained in
other fields.
I have not made myself an advocate or an apologist for mountaineering,
nor do I now intend to usurp the functions of a moralist, but my task
would have been ill performed if it had been concluded without one
reference to the more serious lessons of the mountaineer. We glory in
the physical regeneration which is the product of our exertions; we
exult over the grandeur of the scenes that are brought before our eyes,
the splendors of sunrise and sunset, and the beauties of hill, dale,
lake, wood and waterfall; but we value more highly the development of
manliness, and the evolution, under combat with difficulties, of those
noble qualities of human nature—courage, patience, endurance and
fortitude.
Some hold these virtues in less estimation, and assign base and
contemptible motives to those who indulge in our innocent sport.
Be thou chaste as ice, as pure as snow, thou shalt not escape calumny.
Others, again, who are not detractors, find mountaineering, as a sport,
to be wholly unintelligible. It is not greatly to be wondered at—we are
not all constituted alike. Mountaineering is a pursuit essentially
adapted to the young or vigorous, and not to the old or feeble. To the
latter toil may be no pleasure, and it is often said by such persons,
“This man is making a toil of pleasure.” Toil he must who goes
mountaineering, but out of the toil comes strength (not merely muscular
energy—more than that, an awakening of all the faculties), and from the
strength arises pleasure. Then, again, it is often asked, in tones
which seem to imply that the answer must at least be doubtful, “But
does it repay you?” Well, we cannot estimate our enjoyment as you
measure your wine or weigh your lead: it is real, nevertheless. If I
could blot out every reminiscence or erase every memory, still I should
say that my scrambles amongst the Alps have repaid me, for they have
given me two of the best things a man can possess—health and friends.
The recollections of past pleasures cannot be effaced. Even now as I
write they crowd up before me. First comes an endless series of
pictures, magnificent in form, effect and color. I see the great peaks
with clouded tops, seeming to mount up for ever and ever; I hear the
music of the distant herds, the peasant’s jodel and the solemn
church-bells; and I scent the fragrant breath of the pines; and after
these have passed away another train of thoughts succeeds—of those who
have been upright, brave and true; of kind hearts and bold deeds; and
of courtesies received at stranger hands, trifles in themselves, but
expressive of that good-will toward men which is the essence of
charity.
Still, the last sad memory hovers round, and sometimes drifts across
like floating mist, cutting off sunshine and chilling the remembrance
of happier times. There have been joys too great to be described in
words, and there have been griefs upon which I have not dared to dwell;
and with these in mind I say, Climb if you will, but remember that
courage and strength are naught without prudence, and that a momentary
negligence may destroy the happiness of a lifetime. Do nothing in
haste, look well to each step, and from the beginning think what may be
the end.
[Illustration]
APPENDIX.
A. SUBSEQUENT ASCENTS OF THE MATTERHORN.
Mr. Craufurd Grove was the first traveler who ascended the Matterhorn
after the accident. This was in August, 1867. He took with him as
guides three mountaineers of the Val Tournanche—J.-A. Carrel, J. Bich
and S. Meynet, Carrel being the leader. The natives of Val Tournanche
were, of course, greatly delighted that his ascent was made upon their
side. Some of them, however, were by no means well pleased that J.-A.
Carrel was so much regarded. They feared, perhaps, that he would
acquire the monopoly of the mountain. Just a month after Mr. Grove’s
ascent, six Val Tournanchians set out to see whether they could not
learn the route, and so come in for a share of the good things which
were expected to arrive. They were three Maquignazes, Cæsar Carrel (my
old guide), J.-B. Carrel, and a daughter of the last named! They left
Breuil at 5 A.M. on September 12, and at 3 P.M. arrived at the hut,
where they passed the night. At 7 A.M. the next day they started again
(leaving J.-B. Carrel behind), and proceeded along the “shoulder” to
the final peak; passed the cleft which had stopped Bennen, and
clambered up the comparatively easy rocks on the other side until they
arrived at the base of the last precipice, down which we had hurled
stones on July 14, 1865. They (young woman and all) were then about
three hundred and fifty feet from the summit! Then, instead of turning
to the left, as Carrel and Mr. Grove had done, Joseph and J.-Pierre
Maquignaz paid attention to the cliff in front of them, and managed to
find a means of passing up, by clefts, ledges and gullies, to the
summit. This was a shorter (and it appears to be an easier) route than
that taken by Carrel and Grove, and it has been followed by all those
who have since then ascended the mountain from the side of Breuil.
Subsequently, a rope was fixed over the most difficult portions of the
final climb.
In the mean time they had not been idle upon the other side. A hut was
constructed upon the eastern face at a height of 12,526 feet above the
sea, near to the crest of the ridge which descends toward Zermatt
(north-east ridge). This was done at the expense of Monsieur Seller and
of the Swiss Alpine Club. Mons. Seller placed the execution of the work
under the direction of the Knubels, of the village of St. Nicholas, in
the Zermatt valley; and Peter Knubel, along with Joseph Marie
Lochmatter of the same village, had the honor of making the second
ascent of the mountain upon the northern side with Mr. Elliott. This
took place on July 24 and 25, 1868. Since then numerous ascents have
been made, and of these the only one which calls for mention is that by
Signer Giordano, on September 3-5, 1868. This gentleman came to Breuil
several times after his famous visit in 1865, with the intention of
making the ascent, but he was always baffled by weather. In July, 1866,
he got as high as the “cravate” (with J.-A. Carrel and other men), and
_was detained there five days and nights, unable to move either up or
down!_ At last, upon the above-named date, he was able to gratify his
desires, and accomplished the feat of ascending the mountain upon one
side and descending it upon the other. Signor Giordano is, I believe,
the only geologist who has ascended the Matterhorn. He spent a
considerable time in the examination of its structure, and became
benighted on its eastern face in consequence.
[Illustration: PINNACLES NEAR SACHAS IN THE VALLEY OF THE DURANCE,
FORMED FROM AN OLD MORAINE.]
B. DENUDATION IN THE VALLEY OF THE DURANCE.
In the summer of 1869, whilst walking up the valley of the Durance from
Mont Dauphin to Briançon, I noticed, when about five kilometres from
the latter place, some pinnacles on the mountain-slopes to the west of
the road. I scrambled up, and found the remarkable natural pillars
which are represented in the annexed engraving. They were formed out of
an unstratified conglomerate of gritty earth, boulders and stones. Some
of them were more thickly studded with stones than a plum-pudding
usually is with plums, whilst from others the stones projected like the
spines from an echinoderm. The earth (or mud) was extremely hard and
tenacious, and the stones embedded in it were extricated with
considerable difficulty. The mud adhered very firmly to the stones that
were got out, but it was readily washed away in a little stream near at
hand. In a few minutes I extracted fragments of syenite, mica-schist,
several kinds of limestone and conglomerates, and some fossil plants
characteristic of carboniferous strata. Most of the fragments were
covered with scratches, which told that they had traveled underneath a
glacier. The mud had all the character of glacier-mud, and the hillside
was covered with drift. From these indications, and from the situation
of the pinnacles, I concluded that they had been formed out of an old
moraine. The greatest of them were sixty to seventy feet high, and the
moraine had therefore been at least that height. I judged from
appearances that the moraine was a frontal-terminal one of a glacier
which had been an affluent of the great glacier that formerly occupied
the valley of the Durance, and which during retrogression had made a
stand upon this hillside near Sachas. This lateral glacier had flowed
down a nameless _vallon_ which descends toward the east-south-east from
the mountain called upon the French government map Sommet de l’Eychouda
(8740 feet).
Only one of all the pinnacles that I saw was _capped_ by a stone (a
small one), and I did not notice any boulders lying in their immediate
vicinity of a size sufficient to account for their production in the
manner of the celebrated pillars near Botzen. The readers of Sir
Charles Lyell’s Principles (10th ed., vol. i., p. 338) will remember
that he attributes the formation of the Botzen pillars chiefly to the
protection which boulders have afforded to the underlying matter from
the direct action of rain. This is no doubt correct: the Botzen
pinnacles are mostly capped by boulders of considerable dimensions. In
the present instance this does not appear to have been exactly the
case. Running water has cut the moraine into ridges (shown upon the
right hand of the engraving), and has evidently assisted in the work of
denudation. The group of pinnacles here figured belonged, in all
probability, to a ridge which had been formed in this way, whose crest,
in course of time, became sharp, perhaps attenuated. In such a
condition very small stones upon the crest of the ridge would originate
little pinnacles: whether these would develop into larger ones would
depend upon the quantity of stones embedded in the surrounding
moraine-matter. I imagine that the largest of the Sachas pinnacles owe
their existence to the portions of the moraine out of which they are
formed having been studded with a greater quantity of stones and small
boulders than the portions of the moraine which formerly filled the
gaps between them; and, of course, primarily, to the facts that
glacier-mud is extremely tenacious when dry, and is readily washed
away. Thus, the present form of the pinnacles is chiefly due to the
direct action of rain, but their production was assisted, in the first
instance, by the action of running water.