A DAY ACROSS COUNTRY
The art of meteorological vaticination—The climate we leave our
homes for—Observations in the valley—The diligence arrives and
shoots its load—Types of travellers—The Alpine habitué—The elderly
spinster on tour—A stern Briton—A family party—We seek fresh
snow-fields—The Bietschhorn—A sepulchral bivouac—On early starts
and their curious effects on the temperament—A choice of routes—A
deceptive ice gully—The avalanches on the Bietschhorn—We work up
to a dramatic situation—The united party nearly fall out—A limited
panorama—A race for home—Caught out—A short cut—Driven to
extremities—The water jump—An aged person comes to the rescue—A
classical banquet at Ried—The old curé and his hospitality—A
wasted life?
The summer season of 1878 was one of the worst on record. Meteorologists,
by a species of climatic paradox, might have had a fine time of it;
mountaineers had a most wet and disagreeable time of it. The weather
prophets easily established a reputation for infallibility—according to
the accepted modern standard of vaticination—by predicting invariably evil
things. They were thus right five times out of six, which will readily be
acknowledged as very creditable in persons who were uninspired, save by a
desire to exalt themselves in the eyes of their fellow tourists. But, as
in the case of that singularly hopeful person Tantalus, the torture was
rendered more artistic and aggravating by sporadic promise of better
things. One day the rock aiguilles were powdered over and white-speckled
with snow. The climber looked up longingly at the heights above, but
visions of numbing cold and frost-bitten fingers caused him to thrust the
latter members into his pockets and turn away with a sigh, to put it
mildly, and avert his gaze from the chilling spectacle. Then would he
follow his daily practice—his thrice-a-daily practice in all
probability—of overeating himself. Perhaps, while still engaged at _table
d’hôte_ in consuming, at any rate in masticating, the multiform dish
generically named “chevreuil,” the glow of a rosy sunset, and the hope of
brighter things in store for the morrow, would attract him to the window.
(M45)
The next day would produce scorching heat, a clear sky, a rising
barometer, and a revival of spirits; diet, as the physicians say, as
before. The powdered snow would disappear off the ledges and, melting,
distribute itself more uniformly over the rocks, which as a result
presented a shining appearance, as the morning face of a schoolboy or the
Sunday face of a general servant. At night a clear sky and a sharp frost
in the high regions, and the next day the mountain would be more
impossible than ever. Still, recognising that another few hours of
grateful sunshine would cause the thin film of ice glazing the rocks to
melt and evaporate, the energetic climber (and we were very energetic that
year) would summon his guides and all his resolution, pack up his traps,
and start for a bivouac up aloft, to return, in all probability, at the
end of twenty-four hours, in a downfall of rain and in the condition of
steamy moisture so tersely described by Mr. Mantalini. Such, during July
1878, was our lot day after day in the glorious Alpine climate. We paced
up and down, with the regularity of sentries, between our camp on the
Aiguille du Dru and Couttet’s hotel at Chamouni. Occasionally we ascended
some distance up the Glacier de la Charpoua and took observations. Once or
twice we proceeded far enough on the rocks of the Aiguille du Dru to prove
the impossibility of ascending them to any great height. Still we were
loth to depart and run the risk of losing a favourable opportunity of
assaulting the mountain with any chance of success. It fell out thus that
we had good opportunities of observing our fellow creatures and the
various types of travellers who, notwithstanding the weather, still
crowded into Chamouni; for it was only on rock peaks such as the Aiguille
du Dru, or difficult mountains like the Aiguille Verte, that climbing was
impossible. This condition of things did not affect to any very
appreciable extent the perambulating peasants who constitute the vast
majority of the body known as guides in Chamouni. These worthies merely
loafed a little more than they were wont to do, if that be possible.
Perhaps the gathering invariably to be found, during twenty hours out of
the twenty-four, at the cross roads near Tairraz’s shop was still more
numerously attended, and there was some slight increase in the number of
sunburnt individuals who found intellectual exercise sufficient to
apologise for their existence in wearing their hands in their pockets,
smoking indifferent tobacco, expectorating indiscriminately, and uttering
statements devoid of sense or point to anybody who cared to listen. The
weather had no effect on them; whether wet or dry, cold or warm, they
still occupied themselves from June to September in the same manner. Once
in the early morning, and once again about five o’clock in the evening,
were they momentarily galvanised out of their listlessness by the arriving
and departing diligences.
(M46)
On the arrival of the caravan the contingent was usually reinforced by
some of our own countrymen. The proper attitude for the English visitor at
Chamouni to assume, when watching the evening incursion of tourists,
consisted in leaning against the wall on the south side of the street, and
so to pose himself as to indicate independence of the proceedings and to
wear an expression of indifference tinged with a suggestion of cynical
humour. This was usually accomplished by wearing the hands in the pockets,
tilting the hat a little over the eyes, crossing the legs, and laughing
unduly at the remarks of companions, whether audible or not. Some few
considered that smoking a wooden pipe assisted the realisation of the
effect intended: others apparently held that a heavy object held in the
mouth interfered with the expression. I have observed that these same
onlookers were bitterly indignant at the ordeal they had to pass through
on returning to their native shores viâ Folkestone, when clambering
wearily with leaden eyes and sage-green complexions up the pier steps. Yet
the diligence travellers, begrimed with dust, stung of horse flies,
cramped, choked, and so jolted that they recognised more bony prominences
than previous anatomical knowledge had ever led them to expect they
possessed, were none the less objects of pity. Still human nature is
always worthy of study, and those who arrived, together with those who
went to see them arrive, were equally interesting under the depressing
climatic influences which so often forbade us to take our pleasure
elsewhere.
(M47)
It was curious to note how, day after day, the diligence on its arrival
released from the cramped thraldom of its uncomfortable seats almost
exactly the same load. As the great lumbering yellow vehicle came within
sight, one or two familiar faces would be seen craning out to catch the
first sight of an old guide or mountain friend. These _habitués_ as a rule
secured for themselves the corner seats. We knew exactly what their
luggage would be. A bundle of axes like Roman “fasces” would be handed out
first, with perhaps a little unnecessary ostentation, followed by a coil
of rope which might have been packed up in the portmanteau, but usually
was not; then a knapsack, with marks on the back like a map of the
continent of America if the owner was an old hand, and a spotless minute
check if he were only trying to look like one. The owners of the knapsacks
would be clad in suits that once were dittos, flannel shirts and the
familiar British wide-awake, the new aspirants for mountaineering fame
decorating their head gear with snow spectacles purchased in Geneva. Very
business-like would they show themselves in collecting their luggage
before anybody else; then, with a knowing look at the mountains, they
would make their way to Couttet’s. Next, perhaps, would follow a party of
some two or three spinsters travelling alone and as uncertain about their
destination as they were of their age. To attract such, some of the hotel
proprietors, more astute than their fellows, despatched to the scene of
action porters of cultivated manners and obsequious demeanour, who seldom
failed, by proving themselves to be “such nice polite men, my dear,” to
ensnare the victims. Burdened with the numerous parcels and odd little
bags this class of traveller greatly affects, the nicely mannered porter
would lead the way to the hotel or pension, probably bestowing, as he
passed, a wink on some friend among the guides, who recognised at once the
type of tourist that would inevitably visit the Montanvert, probably the
Chapeau and possibly the Flégère, and recognising too the type in whom
judicious compliments were not likely to be invested without satisfactory
results. Such people invariably enquired if they could not be taken _en
pension_. Somewhat frugal as regards diet, especially breakfast, but with
astounding capacities for swallowing _table d’hôte_ dinners or such
romance as the guides might be pleased to invent on the subject of their
own prowess and exploits. Charming old ladies these often were, as pleased
with the novelty of everything they saw around them as a gutter child in a
country meadow. Their nature changes marvellously in the Alps. Scarcely
should we recognise in the small wiry traveller in the mountains the same
individual whom we might meet in town—say in the neighbourhood of
Bloomsbury. I have noticed such a one not a hundred miles from there whose
energy for sight-seeing when in the Alps surpassed all belief. Yet here
she seemed but a little, wrinkled, bent-in-the-back old woman, flat of
foot, reckless at crossings, finding difficulty on Sunday mornings in
fishing a copper out of her reticule for the crossing sweeper, by reason
of the undue length of the finger-tips to her one-buttoned black kid
gloves, and accompanied on week days, perhaps for the sake of contrast, by
a sprightly little black and tan dog of so arrogant a disposition that it
declined to use in walking all the legs which Providence had furnished it.
Next, perhaps, the British paterfamilias, who might or might not be a
clergyman, most intractable of tourists; ever prone to combine instruction
with amusement for the benefit of his bored family, slightly relaxing on
week days, but rigid and austere on Sundays beyond conception. And then
the foreign sub-Alpine walker or “intrépide,” clad in special garments of
local make and highly vaunted efficiency, garrulous, smoky, voracious, a
trifle greasy, and dealing habitually in ecstatic hendecasyllables
expressive of admiration of everything he saw. Next the family party,
possibly with a courier, with whom the younger members were, as a rule,
unduly familiar: the boys wearing tailed shooting coats, consorting but
ill with Eton turn-down collars, groaning under the burden of green baize
bags containing assorted guide books, strange receptacles for the
umbrellas of the party, and with leathern wallets slung around their
shoulders, stuffed with the useless articles boys cherish and love to
carry with them; the girls awkwardly conscious and feeling ill at ease by
reason of the practical dresses, boots, and head gear devised for them at
home, looking tenderly after a collection of weakly sticks tipped with
chamois horns and decorated with a spirally arranged list of localities;
the whole party in an excessively bad temper, which the boys exhibited by
pummelling and thumping when “pa” was not looking and the girls by little
sniffs, head tossings, and pointed remarks at each other that they had no
idea what guys they looked. It will be observed that the constant bad
weather induced a cynical condition of mind.
(M48)
We made up our minds, notwithstanding the attractions of this varied
company, to quit them for a while, to seek fresh snow-fields and glaciers
new, and to leave the rocks of the Aiguille du Dru for a time unmolested.
At the suggestion of Jaun we betook ourselves to the Oberland for a
contemplated ascent of the Bietschhorn by a new route. Under a tropical
sun we made our way by the interminable zigzags through the Trient valley
down to Vernayaz, where we met again, like the witches in “Macbeth,” in
thunder and in rain. Our project was to ascend the Bietschhorn from the
Visp side and descend it by the usual route to Ried. This form of novelty
had become so common in mountaineering that a new word had been coined
expressly to describe such expeditions, and the climber, if he succeeded
in his endeavour, was said to have “colled” the peak. The phrase, however,
was only admissible on the first occasion, and it was subsequently
described by any who followed, in more prosaic terms, as going up one side
and down the other.
(M49)
We did not experience any unusual difficulty in leaving Visp tolerably
early in the morning. The chorus of frogs, who were in remarkably fine
voice that night in the neighbouring swamps, kept us awake, and the proper
musical contrast was provided by the alto humming of some hungry
mosquitoes. Our plan of assault was to camp somewhere at the head of the
Baltschieder Thal, which is a dreary stony valley with only a few huts
that would scarcely be considered habitable even by a London
slum-landlord. The living inhabitants appeared to consist of three unkempt
children, two pigs, one imbecile old man, and a dog with a fortuitous
family. On the whole, therefore, we came to the conclusion that nature
would probably provide better accommodation than the local architectural
art, and a short search revealed a most luxurious bivouac, close to the
left moraine of the Baltschieder Glacier, under the shelter of the
Fäschhorn and a little above the level of the ice fall. A huge, flat slab
of rock formed the roof of a wedge-shaped cavity capable of holding at
least six persons, if disposed in a horizontal position. The space between
the floor and the roof, it is true, was not much more than three feet; but
the chamber, though well sheltered, demanded no ventilating tubes to
ensure a proper supply of fresh air. Having a little spare time and being
luxuriously inclined, we decided to sleep on spring beds. First we swept
the stone floor, then covered it with a thick layer of dry rhododendron
branches, over which were laid large sods of dried peat grass, and the
beds were complete. The pointed ends of the twigs showed rather a tendency
to penetrate through the grassy covering during the night, but otherwise
the mattresses were all that could be desired. About two in the morning we
got up—that is, we would have got up had it not been physically impossible
to do so by reason of the lowness of the roof. A more correct expression
would be perhaps to say that we turned out, rolling from under the shelter
of the slab one after another. By the dim light of an ineffective candle,
poked into the neck of a broken bottle, we found it no easy matter to
collect all the articles which the guides had of course unpacked and
stowed away as if they were going to stay a week; indeed, a certain bottle
of seltzer water will probably still be found—at any rate the bottle
will—by anyone who seeks repose in the same quarters.
(M50)
We started in the usual frame of mind—that is to say, everybody was
exceedingly facetious for about three minutes. In about ten minutes one of
the party, who would slake his thirst unduly at a crystal spring near the
bivouac the previous evening, found that his boot lace was untied;
circumstances which do not seem associated at first sight, but are not,
nevertheless, infrequently observed. So again have I often remarked that a
good dinner overnight develops in an astonishing manner admiration for
distant views when ascending on the subsequent day. Within a quarter of an
hour the amateurs of the party ceased to indulge in conversation, their
remarks dying away into a species of pained silence similar to that which
is induced in youthful voluptuaries by the premature smoking of clay
pipes. The guides, however, seldom if ever desisted from dialogue, and
never for the purpose of listening to each other’s remarks. Still, the
respiratory process is governed by the same conditions in the case of
guides as in other mortals, and though they would scorn to stoop to the
boot-lace subterfuge, and feel that a sudden admiration for scenery would
deceive no one, they yet found it necessary before long to distribute
their burdens more equally; a process achieved by halting, untying several
strings, taking out several parcels and replacing them in the same
positions. By these various methods we acquired what athletes call “second
wind” and stepped out more strongly. We crossed a moraine of the usual
inconsistency—however, the subject of loose moraines has been, I fancy,
touched upon by other writers. The Baltschieder Glacier sweeps at a right
angle round a mountain christened, not very originally, the Breithorn.
This particular member of that somewhat numerous family blocks up the head
of the Baltschieder Thal. We skirted the north base of the Breithorn,
passing between it and the Jägihorn, and arriving at the top of a steep
little slope came in full view of the eastern slopes of our objective
peak. At this point Maurer gave vent to a dismal wail of anguish as it
suddenly occurred to him that he had left the bottle of seltzer water down
below. With some difficulty did we persuade him that it was not necessary
to return for it, although the idea of repose was not wholly distasteful,
but we felt that we had probably all our work cut out for us in one sense,
and that the days were none too long for such an expedition as the one we
had in hand. Two distinct lines of attack appeared to offer themselves.
One route, more to our right, led upwards by a gentle curved ridge,
chiefly of snow, connecting the Baltschieder Joch with the northern arête
of the mountain. In 1866 Messrs. D. W. Freshfield and C. C. Tucker, as we
learnt subsequently, attained a high point by this way and were only
prevented from accomplishing the actual ascent by bad weather, though they
did enough to prove the practicability of the route. However, this way,
which appeared the easier of the two, was evidently the longer from our
position. The other route had the advantage of lying straight in front of
us. Its attraction consisted of a broad long gully of snow enclosed
between two ridges of rock. By the dim morning light the snow appeared
easy enough and was evidently in suitable condition: howbeit, long snow
couloirs, at the summit of which rocks overhang, are not usually to be
recommended when the mountain itself is composed of friable material. Now
it would be difficult to find in the whole of the Alps a mountain more
disposed to cast stones at its assailants than the Bietschhorn, a fact of
which we were fully aware. Every ascent of this disintegrating peak so
rearranges the rocks that the next comers would not be wholly without
justification if they pleaded that the details of their ascent were to a
great extent new. Still, mountaineers up to the present have not been
quite reduced to such a far-fetched claim to novelty, although in these
latter days they have at times come perilously near it. Judging by the
direction of the strata, we felt certain that the rock ridges must be
practicable, and the problem in mountaineering set before us consisted in
finding out how we might best ascend without subjecting ourselves to the
inconveniences experienced by some of the early martyrs.
(M51)
An early breakfast put fresh strength into us. It is a common mistake of
mountaineers not to breakfast early enough and not to breakfast often
enough. If it be desired to achieve a long expedition when there is not
likely to be too much spare time, the wise man will eat something at least
every two hours up to about 10 o’clock in the morning, supposing, for
instance, he started about 2 A.M. It is astonishing to notice how the full
man gains upon the empty one on fatiguing snow slopes. We strode rapidly
across the basin of snow called the Jägifirn and arrived at the foot of
the gully. But now we could see that our suspicions were more than
verified: ugly-looking marks in the snow above indicated falling stones,
and the snow itself was obviously in a condition prone to avalanches. This
danger must always be present in couloirs to a greater or less extent in
such seasons as the one we were experiencing. There had been sufficient
power of sun to convert the contents of the gully into what would have
been, in fine weather, a glistening ice slope. But much fresh snow had
fallen recently. It but rarely can happen, when snow has fallen late in
the season or during the hot months, that the new and the old layers can
become properly amalgamated. If, therefore, there is too great a thickness
of fresh snow to allow of steps being cut through this into the ice
beneath, such couloirs are unsafe. The mark of a single avalanche due to
the sliding off of the fresh snow on the ice beneath—a mark easily enough
recognised—would deter any save an unwise person or a novice from
attempting such a line of ascent. The marvellous hereditary instinct so
often attributed to guides in judging of this condition really reduces
itself to a matter of very simple observation and attention, and one
within the reach of anybody. But travellers in the Alps too often appear
to treat their reasoning faculties like they do their tall hats, and leave
them at home. The question then was, Were the rocks right or left of this
snow gully practicable? We all agreed that they were, and proceeded at
once to test the accuracy of our opinion.
(M52)
We crossed the bergschrund—that godsend to writers on mountaineering in
search of material to act as padding—and without dwelling on its insecure
bridge longer than we need now dwell on the subject made swiftly for some
rocks on the left. Scarcely had we gained them when a rush of snow and
ice, of no great dimensions, but still large enough to be formidable,
obliterated all the tracks we had just made. This settled the point at
once, and we felt that by the rocks alone would it be proper to force the
ascent. While on the ridge we were safe enough, and had the advantage as
we clambered up of a most commanding position from whence we could view
the frequent avalanches that swept by. The rain of the previous night,
though it had only lasted for an hour or two, had evidently had a great
effect on the state of the snow, and the avalanches seemed to pour down
almost incessantly: probably some forty or fifty swept by us while we
climbed by the side of the gully, and our situation gave rise to that
feeling of somewhat pained security which is experienced when standing on
a railway platform as an express train dashes by; we certainly felt that
some of the downfalls would have reduced our party to a pulp quite as
easily and with as much unconcern as the train itself. The guides, who do
not perhaps tax their memories very severely for a parallel on such an
occasion, asserted, as they generally do, that they had never seen
anything like it in the whole course of their lives. They then fell to
whistling, laughed very gaily, and borrowed tobacco from each other.
(M53)
Gradually our difficulties became more pronounced, and conversation on
indifferent topics was discarded, the remarks being confined to brief
exclamations such as “Keep it tight!” “Don’t touch that one!” “Hold on
now!” “You’re treading on my fingers!” “The point of your axe is sticking
into my stomach!” and similar ejaculations. Once in a way we ascended for
a few feet by the snow, though never quite losing touch of the rocks, and
sank waist deep in the soft compound filling up the gully. Then we went
back to the rotten rocks for a brief spell, well content to be more out of
the reach of chance fragments of ice falling down the shoot. It is
wonderful to note how quickly time passes in an exciting climb of this
nature; but our progress was actually rather rapid, so fast indeed that we
did not fully realise at one period that we were getting into difficulties
and that we had without doubt strayed, Christian-like, from the narrow
path which was evidently the right one. Throughout the day we were
conscious that the climb was too long to be completed if we made any
serious mistake involving the retracing of steps. Quite suddenly, our
situation became critical: a hurried glance up and down along the line
revealed the fact that each member of the party had to do all he knew to
preserve his position. The attitudes were ungainly enough to suggest
instantaneous photographs at an ill-selected movement of four individuals
dancing a “can-can.” Maurer was engaged apparently in an extremely close
and minute inspection of the toe of his right boot. Another member of the
party was giving a practical illustration of the fact that he could, by
extreme extension of his arms, stretch more than his own height, while a
third was endeavouring to find out why the power of co-ordinating his
muscular movements was suddenly lost to him, and why he could not persuade
his left leg to join his right. For a few moments Jaun, who was leading,
hung on by his finger-tips and the issue of the expedition hung in the
balance. But our leader, by dint of some complicated sprawls, transferred
himself over a passage of rock on which we had no earthly reason to be,
and assisted the rest of the party to regain a more promising line of
ascent. For those few minutes the situation was dramatic enough, and the
thought crossed my mind that the curtain might not improbably descend on
it; a solution of the difficulty which commends itself to the playwright
when he has involved his _dramatis personæ_ in difficulties, but which is
not without its objections to the climber. On the whole the rocks on this
face of the mountain are much more difficult than on the other, and,
writing now after the lapse of some years, I am disposed to think that
these are perhaps the most difficult crags of any that I have ever met
with to climb properly, that is with a minimum of risk to one’s self and
to one’s companions; as a good proof of this I may say that the ascent
would probably have appeared fairly easy to a novice and that it required
some little Alpine experience to realise their real difficulty and their
treacherous nature. There was scarcely time to test adequately all hand
and foothold, and examination of rocks by what surgeons term palpation is
a _sine quâ non_ in rock climbing. Undoubtedly the mountain was not in the
best possible order. We may possibly have rearranged the rocks in our line
of ascent in a more convenient manner for those who follow. Certainly we
may fairly say that in our actual line of ascent we left no stone unturned
to ensure success.
(M54)
Close below the ridge—within perhaps ten feet of it, for if I remember
aright our leader had actually reached the crest—came the climax to what
was perhaps rather a perilous climb. The first and second on the rope had
met in their upward passage a huge cube of rock whose security they had
carefully tested, and to surmount which it was necessary to stretch to the
fullest extent in order to gain a respectable hold for the hands. We were
all four in a direct line one below the other, and the two last on the
rope were placed perforce directly beneath the treacherous crag. By an
extension movement which conveyed some notion of the sensation experienced
by those on the rack, I had reached a handhold pronounced to be of a
passable nature by those above. By this manœuvre I succeeded in getting my
feet exactly to a place on which the others, who were much heavier than I,
had stood in security; without rhyme or reason the block of stone, which
was about the size of a grand pianoforte, suddenly broke away from under
me; a huge gap seemed cloven out in the mountain side, and Maurer, below,
had only just time to spring aside, enveloped in a cloud of dust, and to
throw himself flat against the rock, while the rope was strained to the
utmost. Fortunately the handhold above was sound and I was able to hold on
with feet dangling in the air, searching in vain for some projection on
which to rest. Those above were too insecure to give any efficient help,
and in fact possibly viewed my struggles, inasmuch as they were not fully
aware at first of what had happened, with as much equanimity as a person
inside a boat contemplates the gymnastic performances of a bather trying
to climb over the edge. As the cloud of dust cleared off, however, and
Maurer’s face gradually beamed through it like the sun in a fog, for the
excitement had made him the colour of a cornet player giving vent to a
high note, they began to realise that something abnormal had happened,
while the distant thundering reverberations of the falling mass assured
them that it was no ordinary slip. Meanwhile Maurer planted his axe so as
to give me some foothold, and with a push from below and a pull from
above, fortunately simultaneous, I succeeded in planting my feet where my
hands were, and subsequently undoubling found that we were within a few
feet of the ridge, that the panorama beyond was undoubtedly magnificent,
but was thrown out in strong relief by deep blue-black thunder-clouds
advancing towards us.
Jaun now removed his empty pipe from his mouth and replaced it by a
lucifer match, which, either as an aid to reflection or possibly for
medicinal purposes, he chewed as he contemplated the ridge. A miserably
cold wind with a remarkable knack of detecting all the rents in our
raiment whistled around; above, the summit of the mountain was enveloped
in driving thick mist and cloud. Still the final ridge looked fairly easy,
and indeed proved to be so. The snow was deep and soft, and the stones
below were so arranged as to remind us forcibly of a newly mended road in
our native country; big and little, all seemed loose, and all arranged
with their sharpest points and edges uppermost. The ridge is moderately
broad, and we were able to flounder along with fair rapidity. Spurred on
by the unpromising look of the weather and stimulated by the cold wind,
which rendered any halts so unpleasant as to be out of the question, we
set to work in earnest and found ourselves at the base of the final little
snow and rock cone earlier than the length of the ridge had led us to
expect. As we stepped on to the summit we experienced the curious
sensation usually arising when climbing through clouds, that the mountain
itself was sinking away rapidly from under our feet. The panorama was
wholly composed of a foreground consisting of mist, and presented
therefore comparatively few attractions.
(M55)
It was already so late in the afternoon that we could not have afforded to
stay in any case, and, as we felt that serious difficulties might possibly
be encountered in descending, we set off at once, visions of a warm
welcome and a hot bath at Ried rising before our minds. The idea of
descending by way of the Baltschieder Joch was negatived without a
division. The northern ridge of the Bietschhorn is a counterpart of the
one by which we had ascended, with the solitary advantage in our case that
we had to go down it and not up. The snow slopes leading down to the Nest
Glacier were much broader, and we were strongly tempted more than once to
quit the ridge for this western face of the mountain. Ultimately,
persuaded that the condition of the snow justified us in so doing, we
struck straight down on to the Nest Glacier, skirted round the ridge of
rocks dividing the Nest Glacier from the Birch Glacier, and catching sight
of a little green patch some way below, threw off the rope and rushed
precipitately down to it. Misguided by a few gleams of sunshine breaking
out between the driving clouds, we conceived the idea of repose and
thought that we might as well be aired and dried. Below, the hotel at Ried
was in full view, and it seemed but an hour or two from us: but our
troubles were not yet over. The five minutes’ halt on such occasions not
uncommonly expand into five-and-fifty, and we rather deliberately averted
our gaze from the western view of the valley, up which the thunder-clouds
were advancing steadily in close formation. Eventually we decided to move
on, in order to avoid getting once more wet through. Vain hope: rapid
though our descent was to the level of the forest it was not rapid enough.
We ran furiously down the rough slopes, but, as the storm advanced and we
perceived that we should be caught, the agitation of our minds gradually
equalled the agitation of our bodies. We seemed to get no nearer Ried,
while the darkness increased rapidly around us. Knowing the proclivities
of guides on such occasions, my companion and I agreed that nothing should
induce us to leave a path, should we perchance find one. Now, in a dim
light it is exceedingly easy to discover paths, but extremely difficult to
discover that variety of track that leads anywhere. Determined, however,
to stick to our resolution, we found ourselves continually pursuing level
stretches right and left, only to find that, as routes to any particular
place, they were snares and delusions; that there was a path with long
zigzags we knew, and indeed, finally, a shout from the guides, who skipped
about downhill with an utter disregard for the integrity of their joints,
and adopted that curious cantering gait considered on the stage to express
light-hearted joy, announced that they had discovered the way. With
characteristic inconsistency, they had no sooner found what we had been so
long searching for than they proposed to leave it and make short cuts, so
called; but we were inflexible, and determined not to leave our path or be
seduced by the attractions of a perpendicular descent through an unknown
territory. The hotel lights were no longer visible, but we knew that they
lay straight below us. The question was whether we should turn right or
left. The guides settled the matter by darting off ahead, ostensibly from
a perfect acquaintance with their situation, but actually as we suspected
to avoid being worried with unpleasant topographical questions. Gradually
as we followed the track our stern purpose began to waver, for it was
pointed out by some one that the path, though undoubtedly a good one in
point of construction and general purpose, had two distinct disadvantages
from our present point of view; one being that it led uphill, and the
other that it ran in the wrong direction. There are certain contingencies
in life in which the Briton finds but one adequate method of relieving and
expressing his feelings, such, for instance, as when he finds himself
bespattered with mud from the passing hansom on a carefully selected
shirt-front and a white tie that would have moved to envy; or when, again,
as the last to leave his club at night he finds the only remaining
head-gear to consist of a well-worn beaver many sizes too large, with fur
under the brim and a decoration of little rosettes and bobstays. It is
hard to see why the ejaculation of any particular monosyllable should do
him good at such a juncture. Hard words unquestionably break no bones, but
neither do they mend the broken collar-stud or the ruptured bootlace; and
yet if he swallows the expression down it will certainly ferment within
him, and fermentation is characterised by multiplication. If, on the
contrary, he articulates his feelings, the whole situation suddenly
appears changed, and he can view the most untoward circumstances once more
with a calm serenity of temper. But the remedy, though potent, specific
almost, is too valuable to be resorted to constantly, and should be
reserved, like Thursday’s razor, for the most special occasions.
(M56)
Our situation on the present occasion fully justified us in resorting to
the source of relief vaguely alluded to, and we employed it simultaneously
with the happiest results. Now the guides triumphed, and such was our
accommodating mood that we actually acceded to their counsel and embarked
on a perilous descent down a vertical gully. Scarcely had we turned into
it when the storm broke and the rain came down in sheets, and very damp
sheets too. Some one now suggested that the wisest plan would be to remain
under shelter till the rain had passed off. It was argued against this
amendment, and with a certain amount of force, first that there was no
probability of the rain stopping, and secondly that there was no shelter:
so we went on. Gradually, as we became more wet, we grew more desperate,
and before long floundered down as regardless of bumps as a bluebottle in
a conservatory: at one moment slithering over wet slabs of rock to which
damp tufts of moss were loosely adherent, at another climbing carefully
over gigantic toothcombs of fallen trees, then plunging head
foremost—sometimes not exactly head foremost—through jungle-like masses of
long grass and dwarf brushwood. Soaked to the skin, steamy, damp, and
perspiring like bridegrooms, we went on, utterly reckless as to our
apparel, and haunted by a perpetual idea that we should find ourselves
ultimately at some place whence further descent would be impossible.
(M57)
Within a few minutes the party divided and Jaun and I found ourselves
together. By the lightning flashes I saw him from time to time; on one
occasion he suddenly disappeared from view, and on joining him cautiously
a little while after I found that he had just previously seated himself
abruptly on a flat rock, immediately underneath a miniature torrent. The
fact that we did not at every ten seconds run against large trees
confirmed the idea that we were now almost out of the wood; accordingly we
halloaed, as the occasion seemed suitable, but no answer was returned from
our companions. Now came the question of how we were to cross the torrent
which we knew lay between us and the hotel. Jaun cheerfully remarked that
the best plan would be to find the bridge. This was obvious enough, but he
confessed that he had forgotten at what part of the river’s course the
bridge lay. However, keeping close together, we made towards the right, on
which side the stream lay. The slopes were here more level and less
carelessly laid out. Our hopes revived, for the hotel could only be a few
minutes off, and between the peals of thunder we could hear the roar of
the torrent and could hear also the hollow sound due to the boulders
rolling over its stony bed. Of a sudden we came on to its banks, and
formidable enough the stream looked. The idea of searching for the bridge
seemed childish, for the whole of the frail wooden structure had probably
been carried away long before down to the Rhone valley. The hotel was only
a few yards off, and again the situation was exasperating enough to
justify a resort to extreme measures, if it were an extreme measure to
express forcibly a wish that the torrent might be—well, temporarily
stopped up at some higher point. Jaun now volunteered to wade across. It
was quite unnecessary for him to divest himself of any clothing for the
purpose, and in fact when he had succeeded very pluckily in reaching the
other side he was not in the least degree wetter than when he started. He
shouted some observations from the other side, which I took to mean that
he would go on to the hotel and procure a lantern. Accordingly I seated
myself to await his return, selecting unintentionally a little pool of
water, which however did just as well as anything else.
(M58)
Before long a flashing light advancing indicated that Jaun had been
successful, and two forms were seen dimly on the opposite side, one with a
light. The bearer of the lantern was an aged person in shirt sleeves and a
highly excited frame of mind. The aged person, on the distant shore,
gesticulated as violently as a marionette doll when its wires have got
hitched up wrong, and then, seemingly possessed of a sudden fury, rushed
violently down a steep place and beckoned frantically with his lantern.
This seemed to mean that I was to descend to a point on the bank opposite
to where he stood. It now appeared that there was a bridge within a few
yards of us, if a single spiky, submerged, and insecure trunk could be
considered such. The old man embraced me warmly when I had made my way
across, slapped me hard on the back, and then laughed very loud and
suddenly. Then he darted off with the agility and abruptness of movement
of an elderly lady from the country crossing in front of an omnibus, or a
hen, a foolish animal that always waits to the last moment before running
needlessly to the wrong side of the road. Guided by the lantern which the
impulsive veteran flourished wildly in every direction, so that no one
dared approach him, in another ten minutes we reached the hotel and found
ourselves, with the exception of our companions, who had arrived a few
minutes before—Heaven only knows how, for they did not—fortunately the
only occupants of the hotel. The volatile sexagenarian calmed down, put on
his coat, put out his lantern, and retired to repose in an outhouse, a
shelter to which I fancy he was relegated owing to certain physical
infirmities.
(M59)
It was eleven o’clock, and we had been pretty actively employed for
twenty-one hours. The idea of food and a change of raiment was not,
therefore, distasteful. A middle-aged female with an excessively
“rational” and hygienic waist, who said she was the waitress, volunteered
to serve the banquet, but the change of raiment necessary was naturally
beyond her means, while the idea of borrowing from the aged person’s
wardrobe did not commend itself to us, so we ordered in a large stock of
towels. “But,” I remarked, “you can’t go about in a bath towel”—the truth
of which assertion was immediately evident, for they were so small that it
was difficult to fasten them with any degree of security; accordingly
blankets were requisitioned, and a very classical effect in costume was
thus produced, though what the Romans did when there was a gale of wind I
do not know. To keep up the delusion we arranged the chairs after the
fashion of couches, and appeased our hunger with a curious repast of
stewed apples and mixed biscuits, the sole articles of food that could be
discovered. However, to anticipate, we fared better the next day at
breakfast; for though Bright Chanticleer proclaimed the morn at 3 A.M. he
did not proclaim any subsequent period of time, as he was captured and
cooked for our repast. The waitress while we supped was busily engaged in
stoking up the stove, and seized upon our damp raiment with avidity to
have it ready for the next morning; so energetic was she in fact that we
felt it necessary to remonstrate, foreseeing the probability that our
clothes might have to be brought back to us in a dust shovel: we remarked
that, though sorry for our misdeeds, we would limit for choice the
repentant nature of our apparel to the sackcloth we were then wearing and
would dispense with the adjunct of ashes. The unreliable nature of the
fastenings of our costume prevented us from accompanying our forcible
remarks with properly impressive gestures. The remonstrance, however, had
the desired effect, and our garments the next day, though somewhat
shrivelled and inconveniently tight here and there, still proved that they
had resisted effectively the fire as well as the water.
(M60)
The amount of luxury found in the Lötschthal since those days has
materially improved. Time was when the only accommodation for the
traveller was to be found at the humble tenement of Mons. le Curé, a
worthy old creature as I remember him, who appeared to keep an apiary in
his back drawing-room and was wont to produce the most excellent honey and
the most uncompromising bread; the latter article, as one might judge, was
baked about as often as the old gentleman washed himself. But the milk of
human kindness flowed strongly in him (as it may be said to do in those
who have been made the subjects of transfusion), though, to tell the
truth, it was somewhat decidedly flavoured with garlic, and it needed much
resolution to attentively listen to the confidential communications he was
in the habit of whispering. A man of education and gentle refinement—at
any rate of mind—his was a hard lot, buried away in a squalid little
parish, with no earthly being to talk to possessed of more than one idea;
yet he slaved on contentedly enough with no thought beyond the peasants in
his own district and of how he might relieve their condition, too often at
the expense of his own welfare; isolated more than any ascetic, for his
mental existence was that of a hermit, from circumstances and not from
will. The thought of solitary confinement is terrible, but utter mental
isolation is hideous. Yet, while he entertained us hospitably with fare
which, though rough, was the very best he could offer, he would not join
in the repast: not, probably, from lack of appetite, but from a feeling
that, owing to prolonged seclusion and association with the peasants, the
more fashionable and accepted methods of preparing food for consumption
and conveying it to the mouth, with subsequent details, were somewhat dim
to his recollection. Yet his conversation flowed fast and he talked well:
the while any reference to friends and fellow-travellers would cause him
to pause for a moment or two, look upwards around the room, and fetch a
rather long breath before he recommenced. A curiously gaunt old creature
he seemed at first sight: with wonderful, bony, plastic hands capable of
expressing anything; grotesque almost in his unkempt rustiness; provoking
a smile at first, but sadness as one learnt more of him. And how closely
are the two emotions associated. In truth Humour was born a twin, and her
sister was christened Pathos.
I can recall that he accepted a sum of ten francs when we parted in the
morning. His eyes glistened with pleasure as he took the coin and
straightway made for a ramshackle hovel on the hill-side, where lay an
aged person “très-malade.” Possibly after his visit there was left a happy
peasant in that tumble-down cabin—an emotional object more often described
than witnessed. But all this took place years ago, and as we passed the
collection of dilapidated tenements in one of which our old friend once
lived, I failed to recognise his former dwelling-place. The timbers grew
old and worn, the bands rusty, and one day the wheel which had worked
steadily for so long stopped. Yet the stream which had moved it ran on as
if nothing had happened. Was it a wasted life? Who can say if there be
such a thing?
A few can touch the magic string,
And noisy Fame is proud to win them:
Alas! for those that never sing,
But die with all their music in them.
We passed on: in a few minutes the houses were lost to view and there was
left but the reflection of how much more, worthy of study, there was in
this old curé’s nature than in the majority of Swiss with whom
mountaineering brings us in close contact.
(M61)
As we descended the Lötschthal to Gampel the air seemed to thicken. The
excessive warmth allowed our garments to stretch once again to their
wonted girth, and we became less thoughtful. The vignette of the ancient
curé dissolved away and was replaced by a view (mental only, unhappily) of
our aiguille at Chamouni, black and bare of snow, inviting another attack.
Gampel does not tempt the traveller much to seek repose, and we therefore
caught the first train that came crawling along the valley and shaped our
course for Chamouni in a second-class carriage tenanted by a _pension_ of
young ladies out for a holiday apparently, who all chirped and twittered
and wrangled for the best places till the going down of the sun, like the
Temple sparrows.