THE GUIDES OF THE ALPS--(_continued_).
The fathers of modern mountaineering were undoubtedly the two great
Oberland guides, Melchior Anderegg and Christian Almer, who commenced
their careers more than half a century ago. The former is still with
us, the latter passed away some two years ago, accomplishing with ease
expeditions of first-rate importance till within a season or two of
his death. Melchior began his climbing experiences when filling the
humble duties of boots at the Grimsel Inn. He was sent to conduct
parties to the glaciers, his master taking the fee, while Melchior's
share was the _pourboire_. His aptitude for mountain craft was soon
remarked by the travellers whom he accompanied, and in a lucky hour
for him--and indeed for all concerned--he was regularly taken into the
employ of Mr Walker and his family. At that time Melchior could speak
only a little German in addition to his Oberland _patois_, and was
quite unaccustomed to intercourse with English people. He was most
anxious, however, to say the right thing, and thought he could not do
better than copy the travellers, so Mr Walker was somewhat startled on
finding himself addressed as "Pa-pa," while his children were greeted
respectively as "Lucy" and "Horace." The friendship between Melchior
and the surviving members of Mr Walker's family has lasted ever since,
and is worthy of all concerned. Melchior was born a guide, as he was
born a gentleman, and no one who has had the pleasure of his
acquaintance can fail to be impressed by his tact and wonderful
sweetness of disposition, which have enabled him to work smoothly and
satisfactorily with other guides, who might well have felt some
jealousy at his career of unbroken success.
Melchior's great rival and friend, Christian Almer, was of a more
impetuous disposition, but none the less a man to be respected and
liked for his sturdy uprightness and devotion to his employers. The
romantic tale of his ascent of the Wetterhorn, which first brought him
into notice, has been admirably told by Chief-Justice Wills in his
"Wanderings among the High Alps." Mr Wills, as he then was, had set
out from Grindelwald to attempt the ascent of the hitherto unclimbed
Wetterhorn. He had with him the guides Lauener, Bohren, and Balmat.
The former, a giant in strength and height, had determined to mark the
ascent in a way there should be no mistaking, so, seeking out the
blacksmith, he had a "Flagge," as he termed it, prepared, and with
this upon his back, he joined the rest of the party. The "Flagge" was
a sheet of iron, 3 feet long and 2 broad, with rings to attach it to a
bar of the same metal 10 or 12 feet high, which he carried in his
hand. "He pointed first to the 'Flagge,' and then, with an exulting
look on high, set up a shout of triumph which made the rocks ring
again."
The Wetterhorn is so well seen from Grindelwald that it was natural
some jealousy should arise as to who should first gain the summit. At
this time Christian Almer was a chamois hunter, and his fine climbing
abilities had been well trained in that difficult sport. He heard of
the expedition, and took his measures accordingly.
Meanwhile Mr Wills' party, having bivouacked on the mountain side, had
advanced some way upwards towards their goal, and were taking a little
rest. As they halted, "we were surprised," writes Mr Wills, "to behold
two other figures, creeping along the dangerous ridge of rocks we had
just passed. They were at some little distance from us, but we saw
they were dressed in the guise of peasants."
Lauener exclaimed that they must be chamois hunters, but a moment's
reflection showed them that no chamois hunter would come that way, and
immediately after they noticed that one of them "carried on his back a
young fir-tree, branches, leaves, and all." This young man was
Christian Almer, and a fitting beginning it was to a great career.
"We had turned aside to take our refreshment," continues Mr Wills,
"and while we were so occupied they passed us, and on our setting
forth again, we saw them on the snow slopes, a good way ahead, making
all the haste they could, and evidently determined to be the first at
the summit."
The Chamonix guides were furious, declaring that no one at Chamonix
would be capable of so mean an action, and threatening an attack if
they met them. The Swiss guides also began to see the enormity of the
offence. "A great shouting now took place between the two parties, the
result of which was that the piratical adventurers promised to wait
for us on the rocks above, whither we arrived very soon after them.
They turned out to be two chamois hunters, who had heard of our
intended ascent, and resolved to be even with us, and plant their
tree side by side with our 'Flagge.' They had started very early in
the morning, had crept up the precipices above the upper glacier of
Grindelwald before it was light, had seen us soon after daybreak,
followed on our trail, and hunted us down. Balmat's anger was soon
appeased when he found they owned the reasonableness of his desire
that they should not steal from us the distinction of being the first
to scale that awful peak, and instead of administering the fisticuffs
he had talked about, he declared they were '_bons enfants_' after all,
and presented them with a cake of chocolate; thus the pipe of peace
was smoked, and tranquility reigned between the rival forces."
The two parties now moved upwards together, and eventually reached the
steep final slope of snow so familiar to all who have been up the
Wetterhorn. They could not tell what was above it, but they hoped and
thought it might be the top.
[Illustration: CHRISTIAN ALMER, 1894.]
At last, after cutting a passage through the cornice, which hung over
the slope like the crest of a great wave about to break, Mr Wills
stepped on to the ridge. His description is too thrilling to be
omitted. "The instant before, I had been face to face with a blank
wall of ice. One step, and the eye took in a boundless expanse of
crag and glacier, peak and precipice, mountain and valley, lake and
plain. The whole world seemed to lie at my feet. The next moment, I
was almost appalled by the awfulness of our position. The side we had
come up was steep; but it was a gentle slope compared with that which
now fell away from where I stood. A few yards of glittering ice at our
feet, and then nothing between us and the green slopes of Grindelwald,
9000 feet below. Balmat told me afterwards that it was the most awful
and startling moment he had known in the course of his long mountain
experience. We felt as in the immediate presence of Him who had reared
this tremendous pinnacle, and beneath the 'majestical roof' of whose
blue heaven we stood poised, as it seemed, half-way beneath the earth
and sky."
Another notable ascent by Almer of the Wetterhorn was made exactly
thirty years later, when, with the youngest of his five sons (whom he
was taking up for the first time) and an English climber he repeated
as far as possible all the details of his first climb, the lad
carrying a young fir-tree, as his father had done, to plant on the
summit. Finally, in 1896, Almer celebrated his golden wedding on the
top of the mountain he knew so well. He was accompanied by his wife,
and the sturdy old couple were guided by their sons.
But all guides are not the Melchiors or the Almers of their
profession. Sometimes, bent on photography from the easier peaks, I
have taken whoever was willing to come and carry the camera, and on
one occasion had rather an amusing experience with an indifferent
specimen of the Pontresina _Führerverein_. All went well at first, and
our large party, mostly of friends who knew nothing of climbing,
trudged along quite happily till after our first halt for food. When
we started again after breakfast our first adventure occurred. We had
one first-class guide with us in the person of Martin Schocker, but
were obliged to make up the number required for the gang by pressing
several inferior men into our service. One of these was leading the
first rope-full (if such an expression may be allowed), and with that
wonderful capacity for discovering crevasses where they would be
avoided by more skilful men, he walked on to what looked like a firm,
level piece of snow, and in a second was gone! The rope ran rapidly
out as we flung ourselves into positions of security, and as we had
kept our proper distances the check came on us all as on one. We
remained as we were, while the second caravan advanced to our
assistance. Its leading guide, held by the others, cautiously
approached the hole, and seeing that our man was dangling, took
measures to haul him up. This was not very easy, as the rope had cut
deeply into the soft snow at the edge; but with so large a party there
was no real difficulty in effecting a rescue. At last our guide
appeared, very red in the face, puffing like a grampus, and minus his
hat. As soon as he had regained breath he began to talk very fast
indeed. It seemed that the crown of his hat was used by him for
purposes similar to those served by the strong rooms and safes of the
rich; for in his head-gear he was in the habit of storing family
documents of value, and among others packed away there was his
marriage certificate! The hat now reposed at the bottom of a profound
crevasse, and his lamentations were, in consequence, both loud and
prolonged. I don't know what happened when he got home, but for the
rest of the day he was a perfect nuisance to us all, explaining by
voice and gesture, repeated at every halt, the terrifying experience
and incalculable loss he had suffered. Another unlucky result of his
dive into the crevasse was its effect upon a lady member of the party,
who had been induced, by much persuasion, to venture for the first
time on a mountain. So startled was she by his sudden disappearance,
that she jibbed determinedly at every crack in the glacier we had to
cross, and, as they were many, our progress became slower and slower,
and it was very late indeed before we regained the valley.
Mr Clinton Dent, writing in _The Alpine Journal_, justly remarks:
"Guides of the very first rank are still to be found, though they are
rare; yet there are, perhaps, as many of the first rank now as there
have ever been. The demand is so prodigiously great now that the
second-class guide, or the young fully qualified guide who has made
some little reputation for brilliancy, is often employed as leader on
work which may easily overtax his powers. There is no more pressing
question at the present time in connection with mountaineering, than
the proper training of young guides."
[Illustration: The dust of an Avalanche falling from the Matterhorn
Glacier may be seen to the right.]