_THE CAUTION AND DETERMINATION OF GUIDES._
Amongst the qualities required in a first-class guide, I am inclined
to rank caution as the chief. Many other characteristics are also
necessary, such as a strong will, enabling the guide to compel those
in his care to obey him; dash and courage, by which he overcomes
obstacles; skill in climbing, as well as in forming an opinion of
the condition of snow; ability in finding his way up or down a
mountain, whether he has ever previously ascended it or not; coolness
in moments of danger, promptness of action in a sudden emergency,
resource in difficulties of whatever nature that may arise; strength of
muscle, sound health, good temper, unselfishness, honesty, and great
experience. What a catalogue! And yet I do not know one guide of the
first order who does not possess something of all, and a large amount
of several, of the many qualities which I have enumerated above, to say
nothing of others which I have doubtless overlooked.
I should like first to tell you of some instances where guides have
displayed a praiseworthy caution under strong inducement to overstep
the bounds of prudence. One example, which I extract from “The
Pioneers of the Alps,” that mine of information on guide-lore, is
very characteristic of the great guide Melchior Anderegg. Mr. Mathews
writes: “He knows when it is right to go on, and when it is the truest
bravery to turn back. ‘Es geht, Melchior,’ said a fine climber once in
my hearing when we came to a dangerous spot. ‘Ja,’ replied Melchior,
‘_es_ geht, aber _ich_ gehe nicht;’ or, in other words, ‘It goes, but I
do not go.’”
Edouard Cupelin of Chamonix, a guide with whom in former years I made
many ascents, has frequently shown me that he possesses his right and
proper share of this brave caution. Once in winter, when within an hour
of the summit of Mont Blanc, he made us turn back, considering the
danger of persisting in the face of a snow-storm unjustifiable, though
the difficulties were all behind us. Once, too, I had hankerings after
the Schreckhorn on a windy morning in October, but my guide reminded us
of what the action of the storm on the friable rocks below the Saddle
was likely to be, and refused to have anything to do with the peak,
which showed up every now and then in a tantalising way against a
patch of blue sky.
But the caution of a good guide does not need to be proved by any
collection of anecdotes. It is seen every time he prods for the hidden
crevasse in crossing a snow-field. It is noticeable whenever he begs
his companions (probably for the tenth time at least that day) to keep
the rope taut. It is shown when he refuses to take a self-opinionated
amateur up a difficult mountain in bad weather, or to allow the
amateur’s friend, attired in tennis-flannels, to join the expedition at
the last moment, because “’Pon my word, I must do the Matterhorn some
time or another, you know!”
A guide who has not a strong will can never hope to be quite at the top
of the tree in his profession. Some guides, however, are, of course,
more determined than others.
I remember an amusing tale _à propos_ of this characteristic, which
a friend told me of Joseph Imboden. The incident occurred on the
Breithorn, an easy though fatiguing snow-peak in the Zermatt district.
One cold day, Imboden had a leaden-footed, pig-headed Englishman in
tow. This sagacious gentleman, when half-way up the mountain, observed
that he was tired, and intended to refresh himself by a snooze on the
snow. Imboden naturally objected to the proceeding, explaining that it
was extremely dangerous, and drawing vivid word-pictures of ill-starred
persons who had been frozen to death. However, the traveller persisted,
and finally, in reply to Imboden’s repeated refusals to allow him to
carry out his wishes, exclaimed indignantly, “I pay you, and you are
my servant, and I shall do as I please!” The situation had become
critical. Imboden saw that the time for strong measures had arrived. He
said to his _Herr_, “That is quite true. Now you do as you choose, and
I shall do as I choose. You lie down and sleep, and as surely as you
do so I shall give you a box on the ear that you won’t easily forget!”
“What!” cried the irate tourist; “no! you would not dare!” “Oh, yes,”
said Imboden quietly, “and a thoroughly good box on the ear too!” The
_Herr_, in a furious temper, plodded on to the top, and made no further
suggestions for repose, but the whole way down he sulked and growled
and would not be coaxed into good-humour. However, after dinner at
Zermatt and a chat with his friends, things began to look different,
and the same evening he sought out his guide, and shaking him by the
hand, thanked him warmly for his conduct.
This recalls to my mind another little scene which took place on
the same mountain, the account of which I had from an eye-witness.
A guide, unknown to fame, but evidently resolute and determined of
spirit, was hauling a panting, expostulating German up the snow-slopes
between the Col St. Théodule and the Breithorn. When my friend, who was
descending, met them, the German was piteously entreating to be taken
home, declaring that he was nearly dead and had seen all that he wanted
to see. “Why don’t you turn back?” my friend inquired of the guide.
“Herr,” said that individual, “er _kann_ gehen, er _muss_ gehen--er
hat schon bezahlt!” (Sir, he _can_ go, he _must_ go--he has paid in
advance!)
Here is another little tale. Once upon a time a certain well-known
guide was taking a traveller up the Weisshorn. The weather was
abominable. In addition, the mountain was in very bad order, covered
with ice and soft snow. The ascent had been long and tiring, and during
the descent the gentleman (whose first season it was), worn-out with
fatigue, completely lost his nerve. At last he exclaimed, “I cannot
go on, I simply _cannot_.” “You must,” the guide said. “Indeed, I
cannot go one step farther,” the traveller replied. “Sir,” the guide
continued, “if we don’t go on we shall be benighted on this ridge and
be frozen to death, and that must not happen.” Still the gentleman
stood still as though turned to stone. The guide saw that his words
had no effect; so making himself firm, he called out to the porter,
“Pull down the _Herr_ by his feet.” The wretched Herr feebly glared
at the porter, who demurred, saying, “I dare not, he will be so
angry; besides, if I did, we should all slip together.” “Very well,
come up here, and I will take your place. See to yourself; I will be
responsible for the rest,” answered the guide, and he and the porter
changed places. Now came the tug of war. Standing near the gentleman,
the guide seized him by the collar of his coat and dropped him down
a step. This he repeated two or three times, till the traveller,
reassured by the firmness of the grasp and the decision of the act,
gradually recovered his mental as well as his bodily balance, and
before long he was able to help himself.