THE AIGUILLE DU DRU
Few mountains have been the object of such repeated attempts by
experienced climbers to reach their summits, as was the rocky pinnacle
of the Aiguille du Dru, at Chamonix. While the name of Whymper will
always be associated with the Matterhorn, so will that of Clinton Dent
be with the Aiguille du Dru, and the accounts given by him in his
delightful little work, _Above the Snow Line_, of his sixteen
unavailing scrambles on the peak, followed by the stirring description
of how at last he got up it, are amongst the romances of
mountaineering.
I have space for only a few extracts describing Mr Dent's early
attempts, which even the non-climber would find very entertaining to
read about in the work from which I quote. The Chamonix people,
annoyed that foreign guides should monopolise the peak, threw cold
water on the idea of ascending it, and were ready, if they got a
chance, to deny that it had been ascended. An honourable exception to
the attitude adopted by these gentry, was, however, furnished by that
splendid guide, Edouard Cupelin, who always asserted that the peak was
climbable, and into whose big mind no trace of jealousy was ever known
to enter.
Very witty are some of the accounts of Mr Dent's earlier starts for
the Aiguille du Dru. On one occasion, starting in the small hours of
the morning from Chamonix, he reached the Montanvert at 3.30 A.M. "The
landlord at once appeared in full costume," he writes; "indeed I
observed that during the summer it was impossible to tell from his
attire whether he had risen immediately from bed or no. Our friend had
cultivated to great perfection the art of half sleeping during his
waking hours--that is, during such time as he might be called upon to
provide entertainment for man and beast. Now, at the Montanvert,
during the tourists' season, this period extended over the whole
twenty-four hours. It was necessary, therefore, in order that he might
enjoy a proper physiological period of rest, for him to remain in a
dozing state--a sort of æstival hybernation--for the whole time, which
in fact he did; or else he was by nature a very dull person, and had
actually a very restricted stock of ideas.
"The sight of a tourist with an ice-axe led by a kind of reflex
process to the landlord's unburdening his mind with his usual remarks.
Like other natives of the valley he had but two ideas of
'extraordinary' expeditions. 'Monsieur is going to the Jardin?' he
remarked. 'No, monsieur isn't.' 'Then, beyond a doubt, monsieur will
cross the Col du Géant?' he said, playing his trump card. 'No,
monsieur will not.' 'Pardon--where does monsieur expect to go?' 'On
the present occasion we go to try the Aiguille du Dru.' The landlord
smiled in an aggravating manner. 'Does monsieur think he will get up?'
'Time will show.' 'Ah!' The landlord, who had a chronic cold in the
head, searched for his pocket-handkerchief, but not finding it,
modified the necessary sniff into one of derision." On this day the
party did not get up, nor did they gain the summit a little later when
they made another attempt. They then had with them a porter who gave
occasion for an excellent bit of character-sketching. "He was," says
Mr Dent, "as silent as an oyster, though a strong and skilful climber,
and like an oyster when its youth is passed, he was continually on the
gape." They mounted higher and higher, and began at last to think that
success awaited them. "Old Franz chattered away to himself, as was his
wont when matters went well, and on looking back on one occasion I
perceived the strange phenomenon of a smile illuminating the porter's
features. However, this worthy spoke no words of satisfaction, but
pulled ever at his empty pipe.
"By dint of wriggling over a smooth sloping stone slab, we had got
into a steep rock gully which promised to lead us to a good height.
Burgener, assisted by much pushing and prodding from below, and aided
on his own part by much snorting and some strong language, had managed
to climb on to a great overhanging boulder that cut off the view from
the rest of the party below. As he disappeared from sight we watched
the paying out of the rope with as much anxiety as a fisherman eyes
his vanishing line when the salmon runs. Presently the rope ceased to
move, and we waited for a few moments in suspense. We felt that the
critical moment of the expedition had arrived, and the fact that our
own view was exceedingly limited, made us all the more anxious to hear
the verdict. 'How does it look?' we called out. The answer came back
in _patois_, a bad sign in such emergencies. For a minute or two an
animated conversation was kept up; then we decided to take another
opinion, and accordingly hoisted up our second guides. The chatter was
redoubled. 'What does it look like?' we shouted again. 'Not
possible from where we are,' was the melancholy answer, and in a tone
that crushed at once all our previous elation. I could not find words
at the moment to express my disappointment; but the porter could, and
gallantly he came to the rescue. He opened his mouth for the first
time and spoke, and he said very loud indeed that it was 'verdammt.'
Precisely: that is just what it was."
[Illustration: ON A VERY STEEP, SMOOTH SLAB OF ROCK.]
[Illustration: NEGOTIATING STEEP PASSAGES OF ROCK.]
It was not till 1878 that Mr Dent was able to return to Chamonix. He
had now one fixed determination with regard to the Dru:--either he
would get to the top or prove that the ascent was impossible.
His first few attempts that season were frustrated by bad weather, and
so persistently did the rain continue to fall that for a couple of
weeks no high ascents could be thought of. During this time, Mr Maund,
who had been with Mr Dent on many of his attempts, was obliged to
return to England.
"On a mountain such as we knew the Aiguille du Dru to be, it would not
have been wise to make any attempt with a party of more than four. No
doubt three--that is, an amateur with two guides--would have been
better still, but I had, during the enforced inaction through which we
had been passing, become so convinced of ultimate success, that I was
anxious to find a companion to share it. Fortunately, J. Walker
Hartley, a highly skilful and practised mountaineer, was at Chamouni,
and it required but little persuasion to induce him to join our party.
Seizing an opportunity one August day, when the rain had stopped for a
short while, we decided to try once more, or, at any rate, to see what
effects the climatic phases through which we had been passing had
produced on the Aiguille. With Alexander Burgener and Andreas Maurer
still as guides, we ascended once again the slopes by the side of the
Charpoua Glacier, and succeeded in discovering a still more eligible
site for a bivouac than on our previous attempts. A little before four
the next morning we extracted each other from our respective sleeping
bags, and made our way rapidly up the glacier. The snow still lay
thick everywhere on the rocks, which were fearfully cold, and glazed
with thin layers of slippery ice; but our purpose was very serious
that day, and we were not to be deterred by anything short of
unwarrantable risk. We intended the climb to be merely one of
exploration, but were resolved to make it as thorough as possible, and
with the best results. From the middle of the slope leading up to the
ridge the guides went on alone, while we stayed to inspect and work
out bit by bit the best routes over such parts of the mountain as lay
within view. In an hour or two Burgener and Maurer came back to us,
and the former invited me to go on with him back to the point from
which he had just descended. His invitation was couched in gloomy
terms, but there was a twinkle at the same time in his eye which it
was easy to interpret--_ce n'est que l'oeil qui rit_. We started
off, and climbed without the rope up the way which was now so
familiar, but which on this occasion, in consequence of the glazed
condition of the rocks, was as difficult as it could well be; but for
a growing conviction that the upper crags were not so bad as they
looked, we should scarcely have persevered. 'Wait a little,' said
Burgener, 'I will show you something presently.' We reached at last a
great knob of rock close below the ridge, and for a long time sat a
little distance apart silently staring at the precipices of the upper
peak. I asked Burgener what it might be that he had to show me. He
pointed to a little crack some way off, and begged that I would study
it, and then fell again to gazing at it very hard himself. Though we
scarcely knew it at the time this was the turning point of our year's
climbing. Up to that moment I had only felt doubts as to the
inaccessibility of the mountain. Now a certain feeling of confident
elation began to creep over me. The fact is, that we gradually worked
ourselves up into the right mental condition, and the aspect of a
mountain varies marvellously according to the beholder's frame of
mind. These same crags had been by each of us independently, at one
time or another, deliberately pronounced impossible. They were in no
better condition that day than usual, in fact, in much worse order
than we had often seen them before. Yet, notwithstanding that good
judges had ridiculed the idea of finding a way up the precipitous
wall, the prospect looked different that day as turn by turn we
screwed our determination up to the sticking point. Here and there we
could clearly trace short bits of practicable rock ledges along which
a man might walk, or over which at any rate he might transport
himself, while cracks and irregularities seemed to develop as we
looked. Gradually, uniting and communicating passages appeared to
form. Faster and faster did our thoughts travel, and at last we rose
and turned to each other. The same train of ideas had independently
been passing through our minds. Burgener's face flushed, his eyes
brightened, and he struck a great blow with his axe as we exclaimed
almost together, 'It must, and it shall be done!'
"The rest of the day was devoted to bringing down the long ladder,
which had previously been deposited close below the summit of the
ridge, to a point much lower and nearer to the main peak. This ladder
had not hitherto been of the slightest assistance on the rocks, and
had, indeed, proved a source of constant anxiety and worry, for it was
ever prone to precipitate its lumbering form headlong down the slope.
We had, it is true, used it occasionally on the glacier to bridge over
the crevasses, and had saved some time thereby. Still, we were loth to
discard its aid altogether, and accordingly devoted much time and no
little exertion to hauling it about and fixing it in a place of
security. It was late in the evening before we had made all our
preparations for the next assault and turned to the descent, which
proved to be exceedingly difficult on this occasion. The snow had
become very soft during the day; the late hour and the melting above
caused the stones to fall so freely down the gully that we gave up
that line of descent and made our way over the face. Often, in
travelling down, we were buried up to the waist in soft snow overlying
rock slabs, of which we knew no more than that they were very smooth
and inclined at a highly inconvenient angle. It was imperative for one
only to move at a time, and the perpetual roping and unroping was
most wearisome. In one place it was necessary to pay out 150 feet of
rope between one position of comparative security and the one next
below it, till the individual who was thus lowered looked like a bait
at the end of a deep sea-line. One step and the snow would crunch up
in a wholesome manner and yield firm support. The next, and the leg
plunged in as far as it could reach, while the submerged climber
would, literally, struggle in vain to collect himself. Of course those
above, to whom the duty of paying out the rope was entrusted, would
seize the occasion to jerk as violently at the cord as a cabman does
at his horse's mouth when he has misguided the animal round a corner.
Now another step, and a layer of snow not more than a foot deep would
slide off with a gentle hiss, exposing bare, black ice beneath, or
treacherous loose stones. Nor were our difficulties at an end when we
reached the foot of the rocks, for the head of the glacier had fallen
away from the main mass of the mountain, even as an ill-constructed
bow-window occasionally dissociates itself from the façade of a
jerry-built villa, and some very complicated manoeuvring was
necessary in order to reach the snow slopes. It was not till late in
the evening that we reached Chamouni; but it would have mattered
nothing to us even had we been benighted, for we had seen all that we
had wanted to see, and I would have staked my existence now on the
possibility of ascending the peak. But the moment was not yet at hand,
and our fortress held out against surrender to the very last by
calling in its old allies, sou'-westerly winds and rainy weather. The
whirligig of time had not yet revolved so as to bring us in our
revenge.
* * * * *
"Perhaps the monotonous repetition of failures on the peak influences
my recollection of what took place subsequently to the expedition last
mentioned. Perhaps (as I sometimes think even now) an intense desire
to accomplish our ambition ripened into a realisation of actual
occurrences which really were only efforts of imagination. This much I
know, that when on 7th September we sat once more round a blazing wood
fire at the familiar bivouac gazing pensively at the crackling fuel,
it seemed hard to persuade one's self that so much had taken place
since our last attempt. Leaning back against the rock and closing the
eyes for a moment it seemed but a dream, whose reality could be
disproved by an effort of the will, that we had gone to Zermatt in a
storm and hurried back again in a drizzle on hearing that some other
climbers were intent on our peak; that we had left Chamouni in rain
and tried, for the seventeenth time, in a tempest; that matters had
seemed so utterly hopeless, seeing that the season was far advanced
and the days but short, as to induce me to return to England, leaving
minute directions that if the snow should chance to melt and the
weather to mend I might be summoned back at once; that after
eight-and-forty hours of sojourn in the fogs of my native land an
intimation had come by telegraph of glad tidings; that I had posted
off straightway by _grande vitesse_ back to Chamouni; that I had
arrived there at four in the morning."
Once more the party mounted the now familiar slopes above their
bivouac, and somehow on this occasion they all felt that something
definite would come of the expedition, even if they did not on that
occasion actually reach the top.
I give the remainder of the account in Mr Dent's own words:
"Now, personal considerations had to a great extent to be lost sight
of in the desire to make the most of the day, and the result was that
Hartley must have had a very bad time of it. Unfortunately, perhaps
for him, he was by far the lightest member of the party; accordingly
we argued that he was far less likely to break the rickety old ladder
than we were. Again, as the lightest weight, he was most conveniently
lowered down first over awkward places when they occurred.
"In the times which are spoken of as old, and which have also, for
some not very definable reason, the prefix good, if you wanted your
chimneys swept you did not employ an individual now dignified by the
title of a Ramoneur, but you adopted the simpler plan of calling in a
master sweep. This person would come attended by a satellite, who wore
the outward form of a boy and was gifted with certain special physical
attributes. Especially was it necessary that the boy should be of such
a size and shape as to fit nicely to the chimney, not so loosely on
the one hand as to have any difficulty in ascending by means of his
knees and elbows, nor so tightly on the other as to run any peril of
being wedged in. The boy was then inserted into the chimney and did
all the work, while the master remained below or sat expectant on the
roof to encourage, to preside over, and subsequently to profit by, his
apprentice's exertions. We adopted much the same principle. Hartley,
as the lightest, was cast for the _rôle_ of the _jeune premier_, or
boy, while Burgener and I on physical grounds alone filled the part,
however unworthily, of the master sweep. As a play not infrequently
owes its success to one actor so did our _jeune premier_, sometimes
very literally, pull us through on the present occasion. Gallantly
indeed did he fulfil his duty. Whether climbing up a ladder slightly
out of the perpendicular, leaning against nothing in particular and
with overhanging rocks above; whether let down by a rope tied round
his waist, so that he dangled like the sign of the 'Golden Fleece'
outside a haberdasher's shop, or hauled up smooth slabs of rock with
his raiment in an untidy heap around his neck; in each and all of
these exercises he was equally at home, and would be let down or would
come up smiling. One place gave us great difficulty. An excessively
steep wall of rock presented itself and seemed to bar the way to a
higher level. A narrow crack ran some little way up the face, but
above the rock was slightly overhanging, and the water trickling from
some higher point had led to the formation of a huge bunch of gigantic
icicles, which hung down from above. It was necessary to get past
these, but impossible to cut them away, as they would have fallen on
us below. Burgener climbed a little way up the face, planted his back
against it, and held on to the ladder in front of him, while I did the
same just below: by this means we kept the ladder almost
perpendicular, but feared to press the highest rung heavily against
the icicles above lest we should break them off. We now invited
Hartley to mount up. For the first few steps it was easy enough; but
the leverage was more and more against us as he climbed higher, seeing
that he could not touch the rock, and the strain on our arms below was
very severe. However, he got safely to the top and disappeared from
view. The performance was a brilliant one, but, fortunately, had not
to be repeated; as on a subsequent occasion, by a deviation of about
15 or 20 feet, we climbed to the same spot in a few minutes with
perfect ease and without using any ladder at all. On this occasion,
however, we must have spent fully an hour while Hartley performed his
feats, which were not unworthy of a Japanese acrobat. Every few feet
of the mountain at this part gave us difficulty, and it was curious to
notice how, on this the first occasion of travelling over the rock
face, we often selected the wrong route in points of detail. We
ascended from 20 to 25 feet, then surveyed right and left, up and
down, before going any further. The minutes slipped by fast, but I
have no doubt now that if we had had time we might have ascended to
the final arête on this occasion. We had often to retrace our steps,
and whenever we did so found some slightly different line by which
time could have been saved. Though the way was always difficult
nothing was impossible, and when the word at last was given, owing to
the failing light, to descend, we had every reason to be satisfied
with the result of the day's exploration. There seemed to be little
doubt that we had traversed the most difficult part of the mountain,
and, indeed, we found on a later occasion, with one or two notable
exceptions, that such was the case.
"However, at the time we did not think that, even if it were possible,
it would be at all advisable to make our next attempt without a second
guide. A telegram had been sent to Kaspar Maurer, instructing him to
join us at the bivouac with all possible expedition. The excitement
was thus kept up to the very last, for we knew not whether the message
might have reached him, and the days of fine weather were precious.
"It was late in the evening when we reached again the head of the
glacier, and the point where we had left the feeble creature who had
started with us as a second guide. On beholding us once more he wept
copiously, but whether his tears were those of gratitude for release
from the cramped position in which he had spent his entire day, or of
joy at seeing us safe again, or whether they were the natural overflow
of an imbecile intellect stirred by any emotion whatever, it were hard
to say; at any rate he wept, and then fell to a description of some
interesting details concerning the proper mode of bringing up infants,
and the duties of parents towards their children; the most important
of which, in his estimation, was that the father of a family should
run no risk whatever on a mountain. Reaching our bivouac, we looked
anxiously down over the glacier for any signs of Kaspar Maurer. Two or
three parties were seen crawling homewards towards the Montanvert over
the ice-fields, but no signs of our guide were visible. As the shades
of night, however, were falling, we were able indistinctly to see in
the far-off distance a little black dot skipping over the Mer de Glace
with great activity. Most eagerly did we watch the apparition, and
when finally it headed in our direction, and all doubt was removed as
to the personality, we felt that our constant ill-luck was at last on
the eve of changing. However, it was not till two days later that we
left Chamouni once more for the nineteenth, and, as it proved, for the
last time to try the peak.
"On 11th September we sat on the rocks a few feet above the
camping-place. Never before had we been so confident of success. The
next day's climb was no longer to be one of exploration. We were to
start as early as the light would permit, and we were to go up and
always up, if necessary till the light should fail. Possibly we might
have succeeded long before if we had had the same amount of
determination to do so that we were possessed with on this occasion.
We had made up our minds to succeed, and felt as if all our previous
attempts had been but a sort of training for this special occasion. We
had gone so far as to instruct our friends below to look out for us on
the summit between twelve and two the next day. We had even gone to
the length of bringing a stick wherewith to make a flagstaff on the
top. Still one, and that a very familiar source of disquietude,
harassed us as our eyes turned anxiously to the west. A single huge
band of cloud hung heavily right across the sky, and looked like a
harbinger of evil, for it was of a livid colour above, and tinged
with a deep crimson red below. My companion was despondent at the
prospect it suggested, and the guides tapped their teeth with their
forefingers when they looked in that direction; but it was suggested
by a more sanguine person that its form and very watery look suggested
a Band of Hope. An insinuating smell of savoury soup was wafted up
gently from below--
'Stealing and giving odour.'
We took courage; then descended to the tent, and took sustenance.
"There was no difficulty experienced in making an early start the next
day, and the moment the grey light allowed us to see our way we set
off. On such occasions, when the mind is strung up to a high pitch of
excitement, odd and trivial little details and incidents fix
themselves indelibly on the memory. I can recall as distinctly now, as
if it had only happened a moment ago, the exact tone of voice in which
Burgener, on looking out of the tent, announced that the weather would
do. Burgener and Kaspar Maurer were now our guides, for our old enemy
with the family ties had been paid off and sent away with a flea in
his ear--an almost unnecessary adjunct, as anyone who had slept in the
same tent with him could testify. Notwithstanding that Maurer was far
from well, and, rather weak, we mounted rapidly at first, for the way
was by this time familiar enough, and we all meant business.
"Our position now was this. By our exploration on the last occasion we
had ascertained that it was possible to ascend to a great height on
the main mass of the mountain. From the slope of the rocks, and from
the shape of the mountain, we felt sure that the final crest would be
easy enough. We had then to find a way still up the face, from the
point where we had turned back on our last attempt, to some point on
the final ridge of the mountain. The rocks on this part we had never
been able to examine very closely, for it is necessary to cross well
over to the south-eastern face while ascending from the ridge between
the Aiguille du Dru and the Aiguille Verte. A great projecting
buttress of rock, some two or three hundred feet in height, cuts off
the view of that part of the mountain over which we now hoped to make
our way. By turning up straight behind this buttress, we hoped to hit
off and reach the final crest just above the point where it merges
into the precipitous north-eastern wall visible from the Chapeau. This
part of the mountain can only be seen from the very head of the
Glacier de la Charpoua just under the mass of the Aiguille Verte. But
this point of view is too far off for accurate observations, and the
strip of mountain was practically, therefore, a _terra incognita_ to
us.
"We followed the gully running up from the head of the glacier towards
the ridge above mentioned, keeping well to the left. Before long it
was necessary to cross the gully on to the main peak. To make the
topography clearer a somewhat prosaic and domestic simile may be
employed. The Aiguille du Dru and the Aiguille Verte are connected by
a long sharp ridge, towards which we were now climbing; and this ridge
is let in, as it were, into the south-eastern side of the Aiguille du
Dru, much as a comb may be stuck into the middle of a hairbrush, the
latter article representing the main peak. Here we employed the ladder
which had been placed in the right position the day previously. Right
glad were we to see the rickety old structure, which had now spent
four years on the mountain, and was much the worse for it. It creaked
and groaned dismally under our weight, and ran sharp splinters into us
at all points of contact, but yet there was a certain companionship
about the old ladder, and we seemed almost to regret that it was not
destined to share more in our prospective success. A few steps on and
we came to a rough cleft some five-and-twenty feet in depth, which
had to be descended. A double rope was fastened to a projecting crag,
and we swung ourselves down as if we were barrels of split peas going
into a ship's hold; then to the ascent again, and the excitement waxed
stronger as we drew nearer to the doubtful part of the mountain.
Still, we did not anticipate insuperable obstacles; for I think we
were possessed with a determination to succeed, which is a sensation
often spoken of as a presentiment of success. A short climb up an easy
broken gully, and of a sudden we seemed to be brought to a stand
still. A little ledge at our feet curled round a projecting crag on
the left. 'What are we to do now?' said Burgener, but with a smile on
his face that left no doubt as to the answer. He lay flat down on the
ledge and wriggled round the projection, disappearing suddenly from
view, as if the rock had swallowed him up. A shout proclaimed that his
expectations had not been deceived, and we were bidden to follow; and
follow we did, sticking to the flat face of the rock with all our
power, and progressing like the skates down the glass sides of an
aquarium tank. When the last man joined us we found ourselves all
huddled together on a very little ledge indeed, while an overhanging
rock above compelled us to assume the anomalous attitude enforced on
the occupant of a little-ease dungeon. What next? An eager look up
solved part of the doubt. 'There is the way,' said Burgener, leaning
back to get a view. 'Oh, indeed,' we answered. No doubt there was a
way, and we were glad to hear that it was possible to get up it. The
attractions of the route consisted of a narrow flat gully plastered up
with ice, exceeding straight and steep, and crowned at the top with a
pendulous mass of enormous icicles. The gully resembled a half-open
book standing up on end. Enthusiasts in rock-climbing who have
ascended the Riffelhorn from the Gorner Glacier side will have met
with a similar gully, but, as a rule, free from ice, which, in the
present instance, constituted the chief difficulty. The ice, filling
up the receding angle from top to bottom, rendered it impossible to
find handhold on the rocks, and it was exceedingly difficult to cut
steps in such a place, for the slabs of ice were prone to break away
entire. However, the guides said they could get up, and asked us to
keep out of the way of chance fragments of ice which might fall down
as they ascended. So we tucked ourselves away on one side, and they
fell to as difficult a business as could well be imagined. The rope
was discarded, and slowly they worked up, their backs and elbows
against one sloping wall, their feet against the other. But the angle
was too wide to give security to this position, the more especially
that with shortened axes they were compelled to hack out enough of the
ice to reveal the rock below. In such places the ice is but loosely
adherent, being raised up from the face much as pie-crust dissociates
itself from the fruit beneath under the influence of the oven. Strike
lightly with the axe, and a hollow sound is yielded without much
impression on the ice; strike hard, and the whole mass breaks away.
But the latter method is the right one to adopt, though it
necessitates very hard work. No steps are really reliable when cut in
ice of this description.
"The masses of ice, coming down harder and harder as they ascended
without intermission, showed how they were working, and the only
consolation we had during a time that we felt to be critical, was that
the guides were not likely to expend so much labour unless they
thought that some good result would come of it. Suddenly there came a
sharp shout and cry; then a crash as a great slab of ice, falling from
above, was dashed into pieces at our feet and leaped into the air;
then a brief pause, and we knew not what would happen next. Either the
gully had been ascended or the guides had been pounded, and failure
here might be failure altogether. It is true that Hartley and I had
urged the guides to find a way some little distance to the right of
the line on which they were now working; but they had reported that,
though easy below, the route we had pointed out was impossible
above.[10] A faint scratching noise close above us, as of a mouse
perambulating behind a wainscot. We look up. It is the end of a rope.
We seize it, and our pull from below is answered by a triumphant yell
from above as the line is drawn taut. Fastening the end around my
waist, I started forth. The gully was a scene of ruin, and I could
hardly have believed that two axes in so short a time could have dealt
so much destruction. Nowhere were the guides visible, and in another
moment there was a curious sense of solitariness as I battled with the
obstacles, aided in no small degree by the rope. The top of the gully
was blocked up by a great cube of rock, dripping still where the
icicles had just been broken off. The situation appeared to me to
demand deliberation, though it was not accorded. 'Come on,' said
voices from above. 'Up you go,' said a voice from below. I leaned as
far back as I could, and felt about for a handhold. There was none.
Everything seemed smooth. Then right, then left; still none. So I
smiled feebly to myself, and called out, 'Wait a minute.' This was, of
course, taken as an invitation to pull vigorously, and, struggling and
kicking like a spider irritated by tobacco smoke, I topped the rock,
and lent a hand on the rope for Hartley to follow. Then we learnt that
a great mass of ice had broken away under Maurer's feet while they
were in the gully, and that he must have fallen had not Burgener
pinned him to the rock with one hand. From the number of times that
this escape was described to us during that day and the next, I am
inclined to think that it was rather a near thing. At the time, and
often since, I have questioned myself as to whether we could have got
up this passage without the rope let down from above. I think either
of us could have done it in time with a companion. It was necessary
for two to be in the gully at the same time, to assist each other. It
was necessary, also, to discard the rope, which in such a place could
only be a source of danger. But no amateur should have tried the
passage on that occasion without confidence in his own powers, and
without absolute knowledge of the limit of his own powers. If the
gully had been free from ice it would have been much easier.
"'The worst is over now,' said Burgener. I was glad to hear it, but
looking upwards, had my doubts. The higher we went the bigger the
rocks seemed to be. Still there was a way, and it was not so very
unlike what I had, times out of mind, pictured to myself in
imagination. Another tough scramble, and we stood on a comparatively
extensive ledge. With elation we observed that we had now climbed more
than half of the only part of the mountain of the nature of which we
were uncertain. A few steps on and Burgener grasped me suddenly by the
arm. 'Do you see the great red rock up yonder?' he whispered, hoarse
with excitement-- 'in ten minutes we shall be there and on the arête,
and then----' Nothing could stop us now; but a feverish anxiety to see
what lay beyond, to look on the final slope which we knew must be
easy, impelled us on, and we worked harder than ever to overcome the
last few obstacles. The ten minutes expanded into something like
thirty before we really reached the rock. Of a sudden the mountain
seemed to change its form. For hours we had been climbing the hard,
dry rocks. Now these appeared suddenly to vanish from under our feet,
and once again our eyes fell on snow which lay thick, half hiding,
half revealing, the final slope of the ridge. A glance along it showed
that we had not misjudged. Even the cautious Maurer admitted that, as
far as we could see, all appeared promising. And now, with the prize
almost within our grasp, a strange desire to halt and hang back came
on. Burgener tapped the rock with his axe, and we seemed somehow to
regret that the way in front of us must prove comparatively easy. Our
foe had almost yielded, and it appeared something like cruelty to
administer the final _coup de grâce_. We could already anticipate the
half-sad feeling with which we should reach the top itself. It needed
but little to make the feeling give way. Some one cried 'Forward,' and
instantly we were all in our places again, and the leader's axe
crashed through the layers of snow into the hard blue ice beneath. A
dozen steps, and then a short bit of rock scramble; then more steps
along the south side of the ridge, followed by more rock, and the
ridge beyond, which had been hidden for a minute or two, stretched out
before us again as we topped the first eminence. Better and better it
looked as we went on. 'See there,' cried Burgener suddenly, 'the
actual top!'
"There was no possibility of mistaking the two huge stones we had so
often looked at from below. They seemed, in the excitement of the
moment, misty and blurred for a brief space, but grew clear again as
I passed my hand over my eyes, and seemed to swallow something. A few
feet below the pinnacles and on the left was one of those strange
arches formed by a great transverse boulder, so common near the
summits of these aiguilles, and through the hole we could see blue
sky. Nothing could lay beyond, and, still better, nothing could be
above. On again, while we could scarcely stand still in the great
steps the leader set his teeth to hack out. Then there came a short
troublesome bit of snow scramble, where the heaped-up cornice had
fallen back from the final rock. There we paused for a moment, for the
summit was but a few feet from us, and Hartley, who was ahead,
courteously allowed me to unrope and go on first. In a few seconds I
clutched at the last broken rocks, and hauled myself up on to the
sloping summit. There for a moment I stood alone gazing down on
Chamouni. The holiday dream of five years was accomplished; the
Aiguille du Dru was climbed. Where in the wide world will you find a
sport able to yield pleasure like this?"
FOOTNOTE:
[10] It has transpired since that our judgment happened to be right in
this matter, and we might probably have saved an hour or more at this
part of the ascent.