mounted, accordingly, very leisurely, picked up the things which were
left in the chapel at the Schwarzsee at 8:20, and proceeded thence along
the ridge connecting the Hörnli with the Matterhorn. At half-past eleven
we arrived at the base of the actual peak, then quitted the ridge and
clambered round some ledges on to the eastern face. We were now fairly
upon the mountain, and were astonished to find that places which
from the Riffel, or even from the Furggengletscher, looked entirely
impracticable, were so easy that we could run about.
Before twelve o'clock we had found a good position for the tent, at a
height of eleven thousand feet. Croz and young Peter went on to see what
was above, in order to save time on the following morning. They
cut across the heads of the snow-slopes which descended toward the
Furggengletscher, and disappeared round a corner, but shortly afterward
we saw them high up on the face, moving quickly. We others made a solid
platform for the tent in a well-protected spot, and then watched eagerly
for the return of the men. The stones which they upset told that they
were very high, and we supposed that the way must be easy. At length,
just before 3 P.M., we saw them coming down, evidently much excited.
"What are they saying, Peter?" "Gentlemen, they say it is no good." But
when they came near we heard a different story: "Nothing but what was
good--not a difficulty, not a single difficulty! We could have gone to
the summit and returned to-day easily!"
We passed the remaining hours of daylight--some basking in the sunshine,
some sketching or collecting--and when the sun went down, giving, as it
departed, a glorious promise for the morrow, we returned to the tent to
arrange for the night. Hudson made tea, I coffee, and we then retired
each one to his blanket-bag, the Taugwalders, Lord Francis Douglas and
myself occupying the tent, the others remaining, by preference, outside.
Long after dusk the cliffs above echoed with our laughter and with the
songs of the guides, for we were happy that night in camp, and feared no
evil.
We assembled together outside the tent before dawn on the morning of the
14th, and started directly it was light enough to move. Young Peter came
on with us as a guide, and his brother returned to Zermatt. We followed
the route which had been taken on the previous day, and in a few minutes
turned the rib which had intercepted the view of the eastern face from
our tent platform. The whole of this great slope was now revealed,
rising for three thousand feet like a huge natural staircase. Some parts
were more and others were less easy, but we were not once brought to a
halt by any serious impediment, for when an obstruction was met in front
it could always be turned to the right or to the left.
For the greater part of the way there was indeed no occasion for the
rope, and sometimes Hudson led, sometimes myself. At 6:20 we had
attained a height of twelve thousand eight hundred feet, and halted for
half an hour; we then continued the ascent without a break until 9:55,
when we stopt for fifty minutes at a height of fourteen thousand feet.
Twice we struck the northeastern ridge, and followed it for some little
distance--to no advantage, for it was usually more rotten and steep, and
always more difficult, than the face. Still, we kept near to it, lest
stones perchance might fall.
We had now arrived at the foot of that part which, from the Riffelberg
or from Zermatt, seems perpendicular or overhanging, and could no longer
continue upon the eastern side. For a little distance we ascended by
snow upon the arête--that is, the ridge--descending toward Zermatt, and
then by common consent turned over to the right, or to the northern
side. Before doing so we made a change in the order of ascent. Croz went
first, I followed, Hudson came third; Hadow and old Peter were
last. "Now," said Croz as he led off--"now for something altogether
different." The work became difficult, and required caution. In some
places there was little to hold, and it was desirable that those should
be in front who were least likely to slip. The general slope of the
mountain at this part was less than forty degrees, and snow had
accumulated in, and had filled up, the interstices of the rock-face,
leaving only occasional fragments projecting here and there. These were
at times covered with a thin film of ice, produced from the melting and
refreezing of the snow.
It was the counterpart, on a small scale, of the upper seven
hundred feet of the Pointe des Écrins; only there was this material
difference--the face of the Écrins was about, or exceeded, an angle of
fifty degrees, and the Matterhorn face was less than forty degrees. It
was a place over which any fair mountaineers might pass in safety,
and Mr. Hudson ascended this part, and, as far as I know, the entire
mountain, without having the slightest assistance rendered to him upon
any occasion. Sometimes, after I had taken a hand from Croz or received
a pull, I turned to offer the same to Hudson, but he invariably
declined, saying it was not necessary. Mr. Hadow, however, was not
accustomed to this kind of work, and required continual assistance. It
is only fair to say that the difficulty which he found at this part
arose simply and entirely from want of experience.
This solitary difficult part was of no great extent. We bore away over
it at first nearly horizontally, for a distance of about four hundred
feet, then ascended directly toward the summit for about sixty feet, and
then doubled back to the ridge which descends toward Zermatt. A long
stride round a rather awkward corner brought us to snow once more. The
last doubt vanished! The Matterhorn was ours! Nothing but two hundred
feet of easy snow remained to be surmounted!....
The summit of the Matterhorn was formed of a rudely level ridge,
about three hundred and fifty feet long. The day was one of those
superlatively calm and clear ones which usually precede bad weather. The
atmosphere was perfectly still and free from clouds or vapors. Mountains
fifty--nay, a hundred--miles off looked sharp and near. All their
details--ridge and crag, snow and glacier--stood out with faultless
definition. Pleasant thoughts of happy days in bygone years came
up unbidden as we recognized the old, familiar forms. All were
revealed--not one of the principal peaks of the Alps was hidden. I see
them clearly now--the great inner circles of giants, backed by the
ranges, chains and "massifs." First came the Dent Blanche, hoary and
grand; the Gabelhorn and pointed Rothborn, and then the peerless
Weisshorn; the towering Mischabelhörner flanked by the Allaleinhorn,
Strahlhorn and Rimpfischhorn; then Monte Rosa--with its many
Spitzen--the Lyskamm and the Breithorn. Behind were the Bernese
Oberland, governed by the Finsteraarhorn, the Simplon and St. Gothard
groups, the Disgrazia and the Orteler. Toward the south we looked down
to Chivasso on the plain of Piedmont, and far beyond. The Viso--one
hundred miles away--seemed close upon us; the Maritime Alps--one hundred
and thirty miles distant--were free from haze.
Then came into view my first love--the Pelvoux; the Écrins and the
Meije; the clusters of the Graians; and lastly, in the west, gorgeous
in the full sunlight, rose the monarch of all--Mont Blanc. Ten thousand
feet beneath us were the green fields of Zermatt, dotted with chalets,
from which blue smoke rose lazily. Eight thousand feet below, on the
other side, were the pastures of Breuil. There were forests black and
gloomy, and meadows bright and lively; bounding waterfalls and tranquil
lakes; fertile lands and savage wastes: sunny plains and frigid
plateaux. There were the most rugged forms and the most graceful
outlines--bold, perpendicular cliffs and gentle, undulating slopes;
rocky mountains and snowy mountains, somber and solemn or glittering
and white, with walls, turrets, pinnacles, pyramids, domes, cones and
spires! There was every combination that the world can give, and every
contrast that the heart could desire. We remained on the summit for one
hour--
One crowded hour of glorious life.
THE LORD FRANCIS DOUGLAS TRAGEDY[48]
BY EDWARD WHYMPER
We began to prepare for the descent. Hudson and I again consulted as to
the best and safest arrangement of the party. We agreed that it would
be best for Croz to go first, and Hadow second; Hudson, who was almost
equal to a guide in sureness of foot, wished to be third; Lord Francis
Douglas was placed next, and old Peter, the strongest of the remainder,
after him. I suggested to Hudson that we should attach a rope to the
rocks on our arrival at the difficult bit, and hold it as we descended,
as an additional protection. He approved the idea, but it was not
definitely settled that it should be done. The party was being arranged
in the above order while I was sketching the summit, and they had
finished, and were waiting for me to be tied in line, when some one
remembered that our names had not been left in a bottle. They requested
me to write them down, and moved off while it was being done.
A few minutes afterward I tied myself to young Peter, ran down after the
others, and caught them just as they were commencing the descent of the
difficult part. Great care was being taken. Only one man was moving at a
time; when he was firmly planted, the next advanced, and so on. They had
not, however, attached the additional rope to rocks, and nothing was
said about it. The suggestion was not made for my own sake, and I am
not sure that it even occurred to me again. For some little distance we
followed the others, detached from them, and should have continued so
had not Lord Francis Douglas asked me, about 3 P.M., to tie on to old
Peter, as he feared, he said, that Taugwalder would not be able to hold
his ground if a slip occurred.
A few minutes later a sharp-eyed lad ran into the Monte Rosa hotel to
Seiler,[49] saying that he had seen an avalanche fall from the summit of
the Matterhorn on to the Matterhorngletscher. The boy was reproved for
telling such idle stories; he was right, nevertheless, and this was what
he saw.
Michael Croz had laid aside his ax, and in order to give Mr. Hadow
greater security was absolutely taking hold of his legs and putting his
feet, one by one, into their proper positions. As far as I know, no one
was actually descending. I can not speak with certainty, because the two
leading men were partially hidden from my sight by an intervening mass
of rock, but it is my belief, from the movements of their shoulders,
that Croz, having done as I have said, was in the act of turning round
to go down a step or two himself; at the moment Mr. Hadow slipt, fell
against him and knocked him over.
I heard one startled exclamation from Croz, then saw him and Mr. Hadow
flying downward; in another moment Hudson was dragged from his steps,
and Lord Francis Douglas immediately after him. All this was the work
of a moment. Immediately we heard Croz's exclamation, old Peter and I
planted ourselves as firmly as the rocks would permit; the rope was taut
between us, and the jerk came on us both as one man. We held, but the
rope broke midway between Taugwalder and Lord Francis Douglas. For a
few seconds we saw our unfortunate companions sliding downward on their
backs, and spreading out their hands, endeavoring to save themselves.
They passed from our sight uninjured, disappeared one by one, and fell
from precipice to precipice on to the Matterhorngletscher below, a
distance of nearly four thousand feet in height. From the moment the
rope broke it was impossible to help them.
So perished our comrades! For the space of half an hour we remained on
the spot without moving a single step. The two men, paralyzed by terror,
cried like infants, and trembled in such a manner as to threaten us with
the fate of the others. Old Peter rent the air with exclamations of
"Chamounix!--oh, what will Chamounix say?" He meant, who would believe
that Croz could fall? The young man did nothing but scream or sob, "We
are lost! we are lost!" Fixt between the two, I could move neither up
nor down. I begged young Peter to descend, but he dared not. Unless he
did, we could not advance. Old Peter became alive to the danger, and
swelled the cry, "We are lost! we are lost!"
The father's fear was natural--he trembled for his son; the young man's
fear was cowardly--he thought of self alone. At last old Peter summoned
up courage, and changed his position to a rock to which he could fix
the rope; the young man then descended, and we all stood together.
Immediately we did so, I asked for the rope which had given way, and
found, to my surprise--indeed, to my horror--that it was the weakest of
the three ropes. It was not brought, and should not have been employed,
for the purpose for which it was used. It was old rope, and, compared
with the others, was feeble. It was intended as a reserve, in case we
had to leave much rope behind attached to rocks. I saw at once that a
serious question was involved, and made them give me the end. It had
broken in mid-air, and it did not appear to have sustained previous
injury.
For more than two hours afterward I thought almost every moment that the
next would be my last, for the Taugwalders, utterly unnerved, were not
only incapable of giving assistance, but were in such a state that a
slip might have been expected from them at any moment. After a time we
were able to do that which should have been done at first, and fixt rope
to firm rocks, in addition to being tied together. These ropes were cut
from time to time, and were left behind. Even with their assurance the
men were afraid to proceed, and several times old Peter turned with ashy
face and faltering limbs, and said with terrible emphasis, "I can not!"
About 6 P.M. we arrived at the snow upon, the ridge descending toward
Zermatt, and all peril was over. We frequently looked, but in vain, for
traces of our unfortunate companions; we bent over the ridge and cried
to them, but no sound returned. Convinced at last that they were within
neither sight nor hearing, we ceased from our useless efforts, and, too
cast down for speech, silently gathered up our things, preparatory to
continuing the descent.
When lo! a mighty arch appeared, rising above the Lyskamm high into the
sky. Pale, colorless and noiseless, but perfectly sharp and defined,
except where it was lost in the clouds, this unearthly apparition seemed
like a vision from another world, and almost appalled we watched with
amazement the gradual development of two vast crosses, one on either
side. If the Taugwalders had not been the first to perceive it, I should
have doubted my senses. They thought it had some connection with the
accident, and I, after a while, that it might bear some relations to
ourselves. But our movements had no effect upon it. The spectral forms
remained motionless. It was a fearful and wonderful sight, unique in my
experience, and impressive beyond description, at such a moment....
Night fell, and for an hour the descent was continued in the darkness.
At half-past nine a resting-place was found, and upon a wretched slab,
barely large enough to hold three, we passed six miserable hours. At
daybreak the descent was resumed, and from the Hornli ridge we ran down
to the chalets of Buhl and on to Zermatt. Seiler met me at his door, and
followed in silence to my room: "What is the matter?" "The Taugwalders
and I have returned." He did not need more, and burst into tears, but
lost no time in lamentations, and set to work to arouse the village.
Ere long a score of men had started to ascend the Hohlicht heights,
above Kalbermatt and Z'Mutt, which commanded the plateau of the
Matterhorngletscher. They returned after six hours, and reported that
they had seen the bodies lying motionless on the snow. This was on
Saturday, and they proposed that we should leave on Sunday evening, so
as to arrive upon the plateau at daybreak on Monday. We started at 2
A.M. on Sunday, the 16th, and followed the route that we had taken on
the previous Thursday as far as the Hornli. From thence we went down
to the right of the ridge, and mounted through the "séracs" of the
Matterhorngletscher. By 8:30 we had got to the plateau at the top of the
glacier, and within sight of the corner in which we knew my companions
must be. As we saw one weather-beaten man after another raise the
telescope, turn deadly pale and pass it on without a word to the next,
we knew that all hope was gone. We approached. They had fallen below as
they had fallen above--Croz a little in advance, Hadow near him, and
Hudson behind, but of Lord Francis Douglas we could see nothing.[50] We
left them where they fell, buried in snow at the base of the grandest
cliff of the most majestic mountain of the Alps.
AN ASCENT OF MONTE ROSA[51]
BY JOHN TYNDALL
On Monday, the 9th of August, we reached the Riffel, and, by good
fortune on the evening of the same day, my guide's brother, the
well-known Ulrich Lauener, also arrived at the hotel on his return from
Monte Rosa. From him we obtained all the information possible respecting
the ascent, and he kindly agreed to accompany us a little way the next
morning, to put us on the right track. At three A.M. the door of my
bedroom opened, and Christian Lauener announced to me that the weather
was sufficiently good to justify an attempt. The stars were shining
overhead; but Ulrich afterward drew our attention to some heavy clouds
which clung to the mountains on the other side of the valley of the
Visp; remarking that the weather might continue fair throughout the day,
but that these clouds were ominous. At four o'clock we were on our way,
by which time a gray stratus cloud had drawn itself across the neck of
the Matterhorn, and soon afterward another of the same nature encircled
his waist. We proceeded past the Riffelhorn to the ridge above the
Görner Glacier, from which Monte Rosa was visible from top to bottom,
and where an animated conversation in Swiss dialect commenced.
Ulrich described the slopes, passes, and precipices, which were to guide
us; and Christian demanded explanations, until he was finally able to
declare to me that his knowledge was sufficient. We then bade Ulrich
good-by, and went forward. All was clear about Monte Rosa, and the
yellow morning light shone brightly upon its uppermost snows. Beside
the Queen of the Alps was the huge mass of the Lyskamm, with a saddle
stretching from the one to the other; next to the Lyskamm came two
white, rounded mounds, smooth and pure, the Twins Castor and Pollux,
and further to the right again the broad, brown flank of the Breithorn.
Behind us Mont Cervin[52] gathered the clouds more thickly round him,
until finally his grand obelisk was totally hidden. We went along the
mountain side for a time, and then descended to the glacier.
The surface was hard frozen, and the ice crunched loudly under our
feet. There was a hollowness and volume in the sound which require
explanation; and this, I think, is furnished by the remarks of Sir John
Herschel on those hollow sounds at the Solfaterra, near Naples, from
which travelers have inferred the existence of cavities within the
mountain. At the place where these sounds are heard the earth is
friable, and, when struck, the concussion is reinforced and lengthened
by the partial echoes from the surfaces of the fragments. The
conditions for a similar effect exist upon the glacier, for the ice is
disintegrated to a certain depth, and from the innumerable places
of rupture little reverberations are sent, which give a length and
hollowness to the sound produced by the crushing of the fragments on the
surface.
We looked to the sky at intervals, and once a meteor slid across it,
leaving a train of sparks behind. The blue firmament, from which the
stars shone down so brightly when we rose, was more and more invaded by
clouds, which advanced upon us from our rear, while before us the solemn
heights of Monte Rosa were bathed in rich yellow sunlight. As the day
advanced the radiance crept down toward the valleys; but still those
stealthy clouds advanced like a besieging army, taking deliberate
possession of the summits, one after another, while gray skirmishers
moved through the air above us. The play of light and shadow upon Monte
Rosa was at times beautiful, bars of gloom and zones of glory shifting
and alternating from top to bottom of the mountain.
At five o'clock a gray cloud alighted on the shoulder of the Lyskamm,
which had hitherto been warmed by the lovely yellow light. Soon
afterward we reached the foot of Monte Rosa, and passed from the glacier
to a slope of rocks, whose rounded forms and furrowed surfaces showed
that the ice of former ages had moved over them; the granite was now
coated with lichens, and between the bosses where mold could rest were
patches of tender moss. As we ascended a peal to the right announced the
descent of an avalanche from the Twins; it came heralded by clouds of
ice-dust, which resembled the sphered masses of condensed vapor which
issue from a locomotive.
A gentle snow-slope brought us to the base of a precipice of brown
rocks, round which we wound; the snow was in excellent order, and the
chasms were so firmly bridged by the frozen mass that no caution was
necessary in crossing them. Surmounting a weathered cliff to our left,
we paused upon the summit to look upon the scene around us. The snow
gliding insensibly from the mountains, or discharged in avalanches from
the precipices which it overhung, filled the higher valleys with pure
white glaciers, which were rifted and broken here and there, exposing
chasms and precipices from which gleamed the delicate blue of the
half-formed ice. Sometimes, however, the "névés" spread over wide spaces
without a rupture or wrinkle to break the smoothness of the superficial
snow. The sky was now, for the most part, overcast, but through the
residual blue spaces the sun at intervals poured light over the rounded
bosses of the mountain.
At half-past seven o'clock we reached another precipice of rock, to the
left of which our route lay, and here Lauener proposed to have some
refreshment; after which we went on again. The clouds spread more and
more, leaving at length mere specks and patches of blue between them.
Passing some high peaks, formed by the dislocation of the ice, we came
to a place where the "névé" was rent by crevasses, on the walls of which
the stratification, due to successive snowfalls, was thrown with great
beauty and definition. Between two of these fissures our way now lay;
the wall of one of them was hollowed out longitudinally midway down,
thus forming a roof above and a ledge below, and from roof to ledge
stretched a railing of cylindrical icicles, as if intended to bolt them
together. A cloud now for the first time touched the summit of Monte
Rosa, and sought to cling to it, but in a minute it dispersed in
shattered fragments, as if dashed to pieces for its presumption. The
mountain remained for a time clear and triumphant, but the triumph was
shortlived; like suitors that will not be repelled, the dusky vapors
came; repulse after repulse took place, and the sunlight gushed down
upon the heights, but it was manifest that the clouds gained ground in
the conflict.
Until about a quarter-past nine o'clock our work was mere child's play,
a pleasant morning stroll along the flanks of the mountain; but steeper
slopes now rose above us, which called for more energy, and more care
in the fixing of the feet. Looked at from below, some of these slopes
appeared precipitous; but we were too well acquainted with the effect
of fore-shortening to let this daunt us. At each step we dug our batons
into the deep snow. When first driven in, the batons [53] "dipt" from
us, but were brought, as we walked forward, to the vertical, and finally
beyond it at the other side. The snow was thus forced aside, a rubbing
of the staff against it, and of the snow-particles against each other,
being the consequence. We had thus perpetual rupture and regelation;
while the little sounds consequent upon rupture reinforced by the
partial echoes from the surfaces of the granules, were blended together
to a note resembling the lowing of cows.