A FRAGMENT
An unauthentic MS.—Solitude on the mountain: its advantages to the
historian of the Alps—A rope walk—The crossing of the Schrund—A
novel form of avalanche and an airy situation—A towering
obstacle—The issue of the expedition in the balance—A very narrow
escape—The final rush—Victory!—The perils of the descent—I plunge
_in medias res_—A flying descent.
The following account is somewhat of a puzzle. It appears to contain
certain facts of so startling a nature, that the ascent to which they
refer must unquestionably have been of a very exciting character. The
details are not so wholly unlike descriptions which have passed the
searching discrimination of editors, in publications relating more or less
to Alpine matters, as to warrant the assumption that they are
fabrications. They do not appear, as far as the writer can ascertain, to
have been seen in print hitherto; but as all Alpine writings relate but
rigid matters of fact and actual occurrences, there seems no objection to
publishing the manuscript, notwithstanding that its authorship is only
conjectural. It is unfortunate that its fragmentary nature leaves one
somewhat in doubt as to the actual peak to which the description refers.
It has been suggested by a plausible commentator, judging from internal
evidence and the style of writing, that the manuscript of which the
fragment consists formed part of an account originally intended for some
work not published in this country, or even, possibly, was primarily
designed to fill the columns of one of our own daily newspapers during the
silly season.
(M136)
“... The day was cloudless, serene, and bright. Only in the immediate
foreground did the heavy banks, betokening a _tourmente_, sweep around
with relentless fury. Far above, the towering crags of the majestic peak
pierced the sky. How to get there! And alone! The situation was sublime;
yet more, it was fascinating; once again, it was enthralling. Far below
lay the prostrate bodies of my companions, worn out, wearied, gorged with
_petit vin_ and sardines. A thought flashed across my mind. Why should I
not scale alone these heights which had hitherto defied the most
consummate _intrépides_? In a moment the resolution was taken. For me, for
me alone, should the laurel wreaths be twined. For me should the booming
cannon, charged with fifty centimes’ worth of uncertain powder, betoken
victory. For me alone should the assortment of cheap flags which had done
duty on many previous occasions of rejoicing, be dragged forth. What was
the expense to a hero when the glow of so magnificent an achievement
should swell his heart and loosen his purse-strings? The account might
reach a sum of two and a half, nay, even five francs; but what of that? I
girded myself with the trusty rope, and, attaching one end lightly to a
projecting crag twenty feet above, hauled myself in a moment on to the
eminence. Involuntarily I shot a glance downwards. The scene was
fearful—one to make the most resolute quail. But there was no time for
thought, still less for accurate description. A fearfully steep couloir,
flanked by two yawning bergschrunds, stretched away horizontally right and
left. How to cross them! It was the work of a moment. Unfastening the knot
in the rope above me, I threw myself, heart and soul, into the work. Where
heart and soul are, there must, in the ante-mortem state, be the body
also. This is logic. Thus I entered the chasm. Battling desperately with
the huge icicles that threatened me at every step, I forced my way through
the snow bridge and breathed again. The first schrund was accomplished.
Next the rope was fastened to my trusty axe, and with an herculean effort
I threw it far above me; fortunately it caught in a notch, and in a few
seconds I had climbed, with the agility of a monkey, up the tightened
cord. Goodness gracious! (_sapristi!_) what do I hear? A sudden roar below
betokened an immediate danger. Horror! sweeping and roaring up the slope
from the glacier beneath, I beheld a huge avalanche. I will conceal
nothing. I own that the appalling situation and its terribly dramatic
nature forced me to ejaculate a cry. I do not claim originality for it. I
said, ‘Oh! my mother!’ (_Oh! ma mère!_) This relieved me. Now was the time
indeed for coolness. Fortunate, most fortunate, that I was alone.
Thrusting the spike of the axe into the solid rock face like the spear of
Ithuriel, in the twinkling of an eye I had fastened one end of the rope to
the projecting head of the axe, and the other to my waist, and launched
myself over the ridge into space. Fortunate, most fortunate again, as in
the hurry of the moment I had attached the rope below my own centre of
gravity, that I was light-headed. Had this not been the case, assuredly I
should have dangled feet uppermost over the abyss. Not a moment too soon.
The avalanche dashed up the slope, grinding the axe to powder, but by good
luck entangling the rope between the massive blocks and carrying it up,
with myself attached, nearly 100 metres—I should say 300 feet—above where
I had previously stood. I had accomplished in a moment what might have
cost hours of toil. Again it was sublime. The thought crossed my mind that
the sublime often approaches the ridiculous. But the rocks, previously
broken up, had been ground by the sweeping avalanche into a surface smooth
as polished steel. How to descend these again! Banish the thought! The
mountain was not yet climbed. Upwards, past yawning séracs, towering
bergschrunds, slippery crevasses, gaping arêtes, I made my way. For a few
hundred feet I bounded upwards with great rapidity. Despite the rugged
nature of the rocks everything went smoothly. Of a sudden a terrible
obstacle was presented to my gaze. I felt that all my hopes seemingly were
dashed. A stupendous cleft, riving the mountain’s side to an unfathomable
depth, barred further progress. From top to bottom both sides of the chasm
overhung; and far below, where they joined, the angle of meeting was so
sharp that I felt that I must infallibly be wedged in without hope of
extrication if I fell. For a few moments I hesitated, but only for a few.
Close by was a tower of rock, smooth and vertical, some twelve feet
high—the height of two men, in fact. No handhold save on the top. This was
but a simple matter. Had any one else been with me, I should have stood on
his shoulders; as it was I stood on my own head. Thus I climbed to the
summit of the pointed obelisk of rock. Exactly opposite, on the farther
side of the cleft, was a similar rock cone, but the distance was too great
to spring across. I was in a dilemma—on one horn of it, in fact; how to
get to the other! I adopted an ingenious plan. Taking my trusty axe, I
placed the pointed end in a little notch in the rock, and then, with
herculean strength, bent the staff and wedged the head also into a notch.
The trusty axe was now bent like a bow. Again I hesitated before trusting
myself to the bow; in fact, it was long before I drew it. But a former
experience stood me in good stead. Once before, driven by a less powerful
impetus—merely that of a human leg—I had flown through a greater distance.
I made up my mind, and, summoning all my fortitude, placed my back against
the arc and, lightly touching one end, released the spring. Instantly I
felt myself propelled straight into mid-air, and before I had time to
realise the success of my scheme, was flung against the pinnacle on the
opposite side and embraced it. What were my feelings on finding that this
huge pinnacle had no more stability than a ninepin, and as my weight came
on to it slowly heeled over! Nor was this all. Slowly, like the pendulum
of a metronome, it rolled back again, and I found to my horror that I was
clinging to the apex of the rock, and dangling right over the chasm! I
cannot recall that in all my adventures I had ever been in a precisely
similar situation. However, a hasty calculation satisfied me that the
rocking crag must again right itself. As I expected, it did so, and as the
pinnacle of rock swung back once more to the perpendicular I sprang from
it with all my force. The impetus landed me safe, but the crag toppled
over into the abyss. Here I noted an interesting scientific fact. Taking
out my watch, I was able to estimate, by the depth of the cleft, the
height I had already climbed. _The boulder took a minute and a half in
falling before it reached anywhere._ I own that the escape was a narrow
one, and even my unblushing cheek paled a little at the thought of it. But
I could not be far now, I hoped, from the summit; and, indeed, the
condition of a dead bird which it so happened lay on the rocks—in a
passive sense—convinced me that the summit of the lofty peak was close at
hand. But few obstacles now remained. Another step or two revealed a
glassy unbroken rock cone leading to the summit. It seemed impossible at
first to surmount it, but my resources were not yet at an end. Dragging
off my boots, I tore out with my teeth the long nails and drove them in
one after another. By this means I ascended the first half of the final
peak; but then the supply of nails was exhausted, and I felt that time
would not permit me to draw out the lower nails and place them in
succession above the others. Luckily I still carried with me a flask of
the execrable _petit vin_ supplied by Mons. —— of the inn below. I applied
a little to the rock. The effect was magical. In a moment the hard face
was softened to the consistence of cheese, and with my trusty axe I had no
difficulty in scraping out small steps. The worst was now over. Just as
the shades of night were gathering softly around, I stepped with the proud
consciousness of victory on to the very highest point. This indeed was
sublime. The toil of years was accomplished; it seemed almost a dream.
Nerved to frenzy, with a mighty sweep of the axe I struck off a huge block
from the summit to carry away as a token of conquest, and planting the
weapon in the hole, tore off garment after garment to make a suitable
flag; only did I desist on reflecting that it would become barely possible
for me to descend if I acted thus. Intoxicated with victory, I shouted and
sang for a while, and then turned to the descent. The night was fast
closing in, but this mattered not, for I made light of all the obstacles,
and they were so numerous that I succeeded perfectly by this means in
seeing my way. Faster and faster I sped along, descending with ease over
the blocks and fragments of the morning’s avalanche. Now and again the
descent was assisted by fastening the rope securely to projecting crags,
and then allowing myself to slide down to its full length. Then I went up
again, untied the rope, fastened it anew below, and repeated the manœuvre.
Thus at midnight I reached the edge of the cliff, at the foot of which my
companions had been left in the morning. I feared they might be anxious
for my safety, the more especially that I had not yet paid them for their
services. Peering over the edge of the vertical precipice into the murky
darkness, I called out. There was no response. Then I said ‘Pst,’ and
tapped the glassy slope with my pocket knife. Even this plan failed to
attract their attention. I shouted with still more force. Finally,
standing up on the edge of the cliff, I sent forth a shout so terribly
loud that it must have waked even a sleeping adder. A fatal error! for the
reverberation of my voice was echoed back with such fearful force from a
neighbouring crag that the shock struck me backwards, and in a moment I
was flying through mid-air—to annihilation.”
* * * * * *
“There is a blank in this narrative which I can never fill up. This only
do I know; that when I came again to my senses, I was warmly ensconced in
a blanket, whilst my companions stood around in a circle shivering, as
they gazed at me with amazement. Their account, which I can scarcely
credit, was that as they were engaged in stretching out and shaking a
blanket preparatory to spreading their bed for the night, an apparently
heaven-sent form had descended from above into the very middle of it; the
shock tore the blanket from their grasp, and in a twinkling I lay wrapt up
safe and comfortable at their feet.”
(M137)
Such is the fragment. It has been thought better to present it as far as
possible in its original form, and without any editing. That the account
is a little highly coloured perhaps in parts may be allowed, but some
licence may legitimately be accorded to an author who is no empty dreamer,
but has evidently experienced some rather exciting episodes.