Scrambles Amongst the Alps in the Years 1860–69

Endnotes

The author of Travels in Alaska. ↩
The Riffel hotel (the starting-point for the ascent of Monte Rosa), a deservedly popular inn, is situated at a height of 3,100 feet above that village (8,400 above the sea), and commands a superb panoramic view. ↩
The highest of the Mischabelhörner. ↩
The temperature at the St. Bernard in the winter is frequently 40° F below freezing point. January is their coldest month. See Dollfus-Ausset’s Matériaux pour l’étude des Glaciers, vols. VI and VII. ↩
This pass is called usually the Va Cornère. It is also known as the Gra Cornère; which is, I believe, patois for Grand Cornier. It is mentioned in the first volume of the second series of Peaks, Passes, and Glaciers, and in Chapters VI and XX of this volume. ↩
In 1860, the name of this village was frequently, or usually, written Chamounix or Chamouni. Enquiry has, however, satisfied me that Chamonix is the official and correct form. See my Guide to Chamonix and Mont Blanc, p. 79. ↩
I had been sent to the Val Louise, to illustrate this ascent. ↩
Since that time a decent house has been built on the summit of this pass. The old vaulted hospice was erected for the benefit of the pilgrims who formerly crossed the pass en route for Rome. —⁠Joanne’s Itinéraire du Dauphiné ↩
See the Map in Chapter IX, and the General Map. ↩
The depth of the valleys is so great that the sun not only is not seen for more than a few hours per day during the greater portion of the year, but in some places⁠—at Villard d’Arène and at Andrieux for example⁠—it is not seen at all for one hundred days. —⁠Ladoucette’s Hautes-Alpes, p. 599 ↩
Sometimes called the Aiguille du Midi de la Grave, or the Aiguille de la Medje. ↩
By the lapse of time, some of the remarks in the above paragraphs have become inaccurate. Since the first publication of Scrambles Amongst the Alps, Dauphiné has been more frequently visited, and at several of the places that are mentioned in this and in other chapters there is now tolerable accommodation for travellers. A railway has been opened from Embrun to Briançon, with a station at La Bessée, whence a good carriage-road leads up the Val Louise. There are now two hotels at La Ville de Val Louise. The high mountains of Dauphiné are pretty completely explored, and the principal peaks are frequently ascended by tourists. ↩
“Faits pour servir à l’Histoire des Montagnes de l’Oisans,” by Elie de Beaumont, in the Annales des Mines; and Norway and Its Glaciers; Followed by Excursions in the High Alps of Dauphiné, by J. D. Forbes.

The following works also treat more or less of the districts referred to in this chapter:⁠—Outline Sketches in the High Alps of Dauphiné, by Prof. T. G. Bonney; Histoire des Hautes-Alpes, by J. C. F. Ladoucette; Itinéraire du Dauphiné, by Adolphe Joanne (2nd part); Tour du Monde, 1860, edited by Ed. Charton; The Israel of the Alps, by Alexis Muston; A Memoir of Felix Neff, by W. S. Gilly. Engravings of Dauphiné scenery are to be found in Voyages Pittoresques dans l’ancienne France, by Ch. Nodier, J. Taylor, and A. de Cailleux, and in Lord Monson’s Views in the Departments of the Isère and the High Alps. ↩
M. Puiseux took for guide a man named Pierre Bornéoud, of Claux in the Val Louise, who had accompanied Captain Durand in 1828. In 1861, the expedition of M. Puiseux was quite forgotten in the Val Louise. I am indebted to M. Puiseux for the above and other details. ↩
This is a common saying in Dauphiné. It means that there is usually less snow on the mountains during these days than at any other time of the year. The natives have an almost childish dread of venturing upon snow or glaciers, and hence the period of minimum snow seems to them to be the most favourable time for excursions. ↩
In the last thirty years, Grenoble has been greatly improved and extended, and it is now one of the finest towns in France. ↩
See Chapter VIII. ↩
Monte Viso is not seen from the Lautaret Road. That this is so is seen when one crosses the Col du Galibier, on the south side of which pass the Monte Viso is visible for a short time. ↩
Their late préfet shall tell why. “The men and women dress in sheepskins⁠—which have been dried and scoured with salt, of which the feet are used as clasps, the fore feet going round the neck, and the hinder ones round the loins. Their arms are naked, and the men are only distinguished from the women by the former wearing wretched drawers, and the latter a sort of gown, which only covers them to just below the knees. They sleep without undressing upon straw, and have only sheepskins for coverings.⁠ ⁠… The nature of their food, combined with their dirtiness, makes them exhale a strong odour from their bodies, which is smelt from afar, and which is almost insupportable to strangers.⁠ ⁠… They live in a most indifferent manner, or rather they linger in dreadful misery; their filthy and hideous countenances announce their slovenliness and their stink.” —⁠Ladoucette’s Histoire des Hautes-Alpes, pp. 656⁠–⁠7 ↩
It became a regular business. “We find amongst the current accounts of the Bailiff of Embrun this singular article⁠—‘Item, for persecuting the Vaudois, eight sols and thirty deniers of gold.’ ” —⁠Muston, vol. I, p. 38 ↩
On the 22nd of May 1393, eighty persons of the valleys of Freissinières and Argentière, and one hundred and fifty persons of the Val Louise, were burnt at Embrun. —⁠Muston, vol. I, p. 41 ↩
See Morland’s History of the Evangelical Churches of Piedmont; 1658; Cromwell’s Acts, 1658; and Burton’s Diary, 1828. ↩
The commune of the Val Louise contains at the present time between three and four thousand inhabitants. This cretin population has been aptly described by M. Elisée Reclus in the Tour du Monde, 1860. He said⁠—“They attain the highest possible development of their intelligence in their infancy, and⁠—abundantly provided with majestic goitres, which are lengthened and swollen by age⁠—are in this respect like to the orangutans, who have nothing more to acquire after the age of three years. At the age of five years the little cretins have already the placid and mature expression which they ought to keep all their lives.⁠ ⁠… They wear trousers, and coats with tails, and a large black hat.” ↩
J. G. Whittier, “Snow-Bound.” ↩
M. Puiseux, on his expedition of 1848, was surprised, when at breakfast on the side of the mountain, by a mass of rock of more than a cubic yard falling like a bomb at his side, which threw up splinters in all directions. ↩
This mountain is the culminating point of the group, and is named on the French map Pointe des Écrins. It is seen from the Val Christophe, and from that direction its ridges completely conceal Mont Pelvoux. But on the other side⁠—that is, from the direction of La Bessée or the Val Louise⁠—the reverse is the case: the Pelvoux completely conceals it.

Unaware that this name was going to be applied to it, we gave the name Pic des Arcines, or des Écrins, to our summit, in accordance with the traditions of the natives. ↩
“Un sarten homme aïe dous garçous; lou pus jouve dissec à soun païre:⁠—‘Moun païre, beila me la pourtiou d’ou ben que me reven.’ Et lou païre fec en chascu sa part. Et paou de tens après, lou cadet, quant aguec fachs sa pacoutilla, se mettec en routo et s’en anec dinc un païs eiloigna, ounte mangec tout ce qu’aïé enbe les fumelles. Et quant aguec tout fricassa l’y aguec dinc aqueou païs-acqui une grande famine, et coumensec à aver famp.”

The above is a specimen of the patois of the neighbourhood of Gap; the following is that of Monêtier:⁠—

“Un home avas dou bos. Lou plus giouve de isou disse à son pere:⁠—‘Moun pere, moun pere, douna-me soque me duou reveni de vatre be.’ Et lou pere lour faze ou portage de soun be. Paouc de giours apres, lou plus giouve deiquelou dou bos, apres aveira amassa tout so que aou lavie, sen ane diens un païs etrangie ben leigu, aount aous dissipe tout soun be diens la grande deipensa et en deibaucha. Apres qu’aou lague tout deipensa, larribe una grand famina diens iquaou païs ilai, et aou cheique diens lou besoign.”

—⁠Ladoucette’s Histoire des Hautes-Alpes, pp. 613, 618 ↩
See note 19. ↩
There are three cols or passes close to Monte Viso on its northern side, which lead from the Valley of the Po into that of the Guil. The deep notch spoken of above is the nearest to the mountain, and although it is by far the lowest gap in that part of the chain, and would seem to be the true Col Viso, it does not appear to be used as a pass. The second, which I crossed in 1860, has the name Col del Color del Porco given to it upon the Sardinian map! The third is the Col de la Traversette; and this, although higher than at least one of those mentioned above, is that which is used by the natives who pass from one valley to the other. ↩
Its height is about 6,600 feet above the sea. ↩
J. D. Forbes. ↩
In the gorge of the Dard, near Aosta; near Enseigne, in the Val d’Hérens; near Stalden, in the Visp Thal; near Ferden, in the Lotschen Thal; and, on a grander scale, near Botzen, in Tyrol, and in America on the Colorado river of the west. ↩
See Ladoucette’s Hautes-Alpes, p. 596. ↩
The Hôtel de l’Ours has ceased to exist. The Hôtel de la Paix in the town, and another at the Railway Station, are now the two most frequented places. The latter is by far the better of the two. ↩
This third rail, or, as it is termed, “the centre rail,” was laid on all the steep portions of the line, and round all except the mildest curves. Thirty miles, in all, of the road had the centre rail. ↩
The inclination of the steepest part of Old Holborn Hill. —⁠Roney’s Rambles on Railways ↩
On the Italian side there were about three-quarters of a mile of strongly-built avalanche galleries, and more than three miles of covered way. ↩
These are the times actually occupied in the tunnel. ↩
M. Conte, a well-known French engineer, was a member of a commission appointed to examine the progress of this tunnel in 1862. His Report is the most accurate and the most complete account of it that has been published. ↩
M. Conte refers to tunnel-shafts. ↩
The Victor Emmanuel Railway Company no longer exists. The section in France was joined to the Paris, Lyons, and Mediterranean railway, and that in Italy to the Alta Italia system. ↩
The summit is a few feet higher than M. Conte states, as the gradients were increased. The length of the tunnel also is slightly greater than that mentioned above. The calculated length was 13,364½ yards (12,220 metres). The actual length, excluding the small curved tunnels at its ends, is 13,379⅓ yards. Its total length, including the curved tunnels, is 14,051⅜ yards, or 8 miles all but 85 feet. ↩
Conte. Conférences faites à l’Ecole Impériale des Ponts et Chaussées. 1864. ↩
At Bardonnêche alone there were:⁠—1. Close to the tunnel-mouth⁠—lodgings for the miners, the principal storehouses, stables, forges for repairing the drills. 2. At Bardonnêche, half-a-mile distant from the mouth⁠—large barracks for the workmen; six other buildings for workmen; one house for other employees; repairing-shops for the machinery; storehouses; a foundry; the building containing the compresseurs à choc, and the reservoirs for feeding the same; a gasworks; a building containing an infirmary, washhouses, etc.; two buildings for compresseurs à pompe; one building for new reservoirs of compressed air; a cantine and a porter’s lodge. An enumeration of the buildings at Fourneaux (Modane) would be nearly a repetition of the above. ↩
In the previous year I had visited Modane, and favoured by introductions from M. Ch. Lafitte, at that time President of the Victor Emmanuel Railway, had been shown all that there was to be seen. I visited Modane again recently, and, for the third time, went to the end of the advanced gallery. I have to thank M. Mella and Sig. Borelli, the directors of the works in 1861 at Modane and Bardonnêche respectively, for their attention in 1860⁠–⁠1, and particularly Signor Copello, the present director at Modane, for the facilities given and for the information afforded by him. ↩
The perforatrices were independent machines, and one could be stopped or removed without arresting the progress of the others. ↩
In 1863, on the French side, in order to advance one metre, 103 holes, 34 inches deep, were bored; 125¼ lbs. of powder and 200 metres of match were consumed; and 158 drills were used up. ↩
The temperature was raised to 80° or 86° after the mines were exploded. ↩
1 chef; 4 machinists; 2 master miners, who determined the direction of the holes; 8 labourers, who guided the boring-rods; 9 workmen, who looked after the perforatrices; 5 boys; 8 labourers; 2 workmen, who kept up communication with the exterior⁠—in all, 39 persons. ↩
The workmen in the advanced gallery received five francs a-day, and a small bonus per metre if they exceeded a certain fixed distance. ↩

On the French side they were employed as follows (subdivisions are omitted for the sake of brevity):⁠—

(1.)	In the advanced gallery⁠—
		Ajusteurs	13
		Miners	14
		Labourers	140
		Boys	13	180
	Enlargement by manual labour⁠—
		Miners	510
		Labourers	180
		Boys	30	720
	Masonry⁠—
		Masons and dressers of stone	58
		Labourers	170
		Boys	52	280
(3.)	Manufactories, machinery, stores (exterior works)-
		Smiths, joiners, fitters, etc.	120
		Labourers	440
		Boys	10	570
(4.)	Overseers, foremen, clerks, etc.⁠ ⁠…			60
(5.)	Platelayers, transport of materials, etc.			180
Total				1,990

Horsepower of machines⁠—
Hydraulic wheels	480
Ventilating machines	300
Sundry	80
Total horsepower of machinery	860
Horses employed in clearing away debris	80

↩

Table of the Strata, commencing from the French Side.

			Metres.		Metres.	Thickness of the Strata in Metres.
1.	Debris	from	0.00	to	128.00	128.00
2.	Anthracitic schists	”	128.00	”	2,095.35	1,967.35
3.	Quartzite	”	2,095.35	”	2,476.75	381.40
4.	Anhydrite	”	2,476.75	”	2,696.90	220.15
5.	Compact calcareous rock	”	2,696.90	”	2,780.20	34.00
6.	Talcose schists	”	2,730.90	”	2,780.20	49.30
7.	Compact calcareous rock	”	2,780.20	”	2,802.02	21.82
8.	Anhydrite	”	2,802.02	”	2,831.75	29.73
9.	Compact calcareous rock	”	2,831.75	”	2,852.95	21.20
10.	Anhydrite	”	2,852.95	”	2,867.15	14.20
11.	Calcareous schists	”	2,867.15	”	3,264.00	396.85
12.	Anhydrite	”	3,264.00	”	3,334.45	70.45
13.	Calcareous schists	”	3,334.45	”	12,233.55	8,899.10

↩

Table showing the Annual Progress of the Advanced Gallery on Each Side.

		Bardonnêche.		Modane.		Total of the two sides per annum.	Generated Total.
	Year.	Advance in metres.	Total.	Advance in metres.	Total.	Total of the two sides per annum.	Generated Total.
By manual labour.	1857	27.28	725.00	10.80	921.00	38.08	1,646.00
	1858	257.57		201.95		459.52
	1859	236.35		132.75		362.10
	1860	203.80		139.50		343.30
	1861			193.00		243.00
	1862			243.00		243.00
By mechanical means.	1861	170.00	6,355.25	” ”	4,232.30	170.00	10,587.55
	1862	380.00		” ”		380.00
	1863	426.00		376.00		802.00
	1864	621.20		466.65		1,087.85
	1865	765.30		458.40		1,223.70
	1866	812.70		212.29		1,024.99
	1867	824.30		687.81		1,512.11
	1868	638.60		681.55		1,320.15
	1869	827.70		603.75		1,431.45
	1870	889.45		745.85		1,635.30
	Total advance at Bardonnêche		7,080.25	Total advance at Modane	5,153.30	Total length of tunnel	12,233.55

↩

Sometimes spelt Breil. ↩
See the Map of the Matterhorn and its Glaciers. ↩
There were no guides, properly speaking, in this valley at that time, with the exception of one or two Pessions and Pelissiers. ↩
This face is that on the right hand of the large engraving which accompanies this chapter. It is represented, more prominently, in the plate of the Matterhorn from the Riffelberg. ↩
Mr. Hawkins was unaware that any attempts had been made before his own, and spoke of it as the first. ↩
Macmillan, 1861. ↩
This ridge is seen on the left of the large engraving accompanying this chapter; and if the reader consults this view, the explanatory outlines, and the maps, he will be able to form a fair idea of the points which were attained on this and upon the subsequent attempts. ↩
Since this time the small peak has received the name Tête du Lion. The gap is now called the Col du Lion; the glacier at its base, the Glacier du Lion; and the gully which connects the Col with the glacier, the Couloir du Lion. ↩
By the kindness of its owner, Mr. F. Tuckett. ↩
See Appendix A. ↩
A view of this place is shown in this illustration. ↩
The guide Bennen must be excepted. ↩
The engraving is made after a sketch taken from the rocks of the Matterhorn, just above the Col. ↩
J. G. Whittier. ↩
Mr. Hawkins referred to this place as one of excessive difficulty. He, however, found it coated with ice; we found it free from ice. ↩
I learned afterwards from Jean-Antoine Carrel that they got considerably higher than upon their previous attempts, and about 250 or 300 feet higher than Professor Tyndall in 1860. In 1862, I saw the initials of J.-A. Carrel cut on the rocks at the place where he and his comrade had turned back. ↩
This man proved to be both willing and useful on lower ground, and voluntarily accompanied me a considerable distance out of his way, without fee or reward. ↩
Alpine Journal, 1863, p. 82. ↩
See Chapter IV. ↩
Mountaineering in 1861, pp. 86⁠–⁠7. Tyndall and Bennen were mistaken in supposing that the mountain has two summits; it has only one. They seem to have been deceived by the appearance of that part of the southwest ridge which is called “the shoulder” (l’épaule), as seen from Breuil. Viewed from that place, its southern end has certainly, through foreshortening, the semblance of a peak; but when one regards it from the Col Théodule, or from any place in the same direction, the delusion is at once apparent. ↩
The late Principal Forbes was similarly situated while crossing the same pass in 1842. He described the sounds as rustling, fizzing, and hissing. See his Travels in the Alps of Savoy, second ed., p. 323. Dr. R. Spence Watson experienced the same upon the upper part of the Aletsch Glacier in July 1863, and he spoke of the sounds as singing or hissing. See the Athenaeum, Sept. 12, 1863. The respective parties seem to have been highly electrified on each occasion. Forbes says that his fingers “yielded a fizzing sound”; and Watson says that his “hair stood on end in an uncomfortable but very amusing manner,” and that “the veil on the wide-awake of one of the party stood upright in the air!” ↩
I have described this tent at length, as applications have often been made to me for information on the subject. I would strongly recommend any person who wishes to have one for long-continued use, to have it made under his own eye, and to be particularly careful to test the poles. My experience goes to show that poles which (when supported upon their extremities) will bear a dead weight of 100 lbs. suspended from their centres, will stand any wind to which they are likely to be submitted. ↩
It has been used, amongst others, by Messrs. Freshfield, Moore, and Tucker, in the Caucasus; by the Rev. W. H. Hawker in Corsica; by Sir J. D. Hooker and Mr. John Ball in Morocco; by Mr. (now Sir W. Martin) Conway in the Himalayas; and by myself in Greenland and on the Great Andes of the Equator. ↩
The heights given on the outlines of the Matterhorn, accompanying Chapter IV, on the geological section in the Appendix, and quoted throughout the book, are after the barometric (mercurial) measurements of Signor F. Giordano in 1866 and 1868. I have ventured to differ from him only in regard to the height of the second tent-platform, and have assigned to it a somewhat lower elevation than his estimate. ↩
During this time making the ascent of Monte Rosa. ↩
They were not guides by profession. ↩
Those which I collected were as follow:⁠—Myosotis alpestris, Gm.; Veronica alpina, L.; Linaria alpina, Desf.; Gentiana Bavarica, L.; Thlaspi rotundifolium, Gaud.; Silene acaulis L. (?); Potentilla sp.; Saxifraga sp.; Saxifraga muscoides, Wulf. I am indebted for these names to Mr. William Carruthers of the British Museum. The plants ranged from about 10,500 to a little below 13,000 feet, and are the highest which I have seen anywhere in the Alps. Several times this number of species might be collected, I have no doubt, within these limits. Very few lichens are seen on the higher parts of this mountain; their rarity is due, doubtless, to the constant disintegration of the rocks, and the consequent exposure of fresh surfaces. Silene acaulis was the highest plant found by De Saussure on his travels in the Alps. He mentions (§ 2018) that he found a tuft “near the place where I slept on my return (from the ascent of Mont Blanc), about 1,780 toises (11,388 feet) above the level of the sea.”

Mr. William Mathews and Mr. Charles Packe, who have botanised respectively for many years in the Alps and Pyrenees, have favoured me with the names of the highest plants that they have obtained upon their excursions. Their lists, although not extensive, are interesting as showing the extreme limits attained by some of the hardiest of Alpine plants. Those mentioned by Mr. Mathews are⁠—Campanula cenisia, L. (on the Grivola, 12,047 feet); Saxifraga bryoides, L. and Androsace glacialis, Steud. (summits of Mont Emilius, 11,677, and the Ruitor, 11,480); Ranunculus glacialis, L., Armeria alpina, and Pyrethrum alpinum, Willd. (Monte Viso, from 10,000 to 10,500 feet); Thlaspi rotundifolium, Gaud., and Saxifraga biflora, All. (Monte Viso, about 9,500 feet); and Campanula rotundifolia L. (?), Artemisia spicata, Jacq., Aronicum Doronicum, Rehb., and Petrocallis Pyrenaica, R. Br. (Col de Seylières, 9,247).

Mr. Packe obtained, on or close to the summit of the Pic de Mulhahacen, Sierra Nevada, of Granada (11,600 to 11,700 feet), Papaver alpinum, L. (var. Pyrenaicum), Artemisia Nevadensis (used for giving the flavour to the Manzanilla sherry), Viola Nevadensis, Boiss., Galium Pyrenaicum, Gouan, Trisetum glaciale, Boiss., Festuca Clementei, Boiss., Saxifraga Groenlandica, L. (var. Mista), Erigeron alpinum, L. (var. glaciale) and Arenaria tetraquetra, L. On the Picacho de Veleta (11,440 feet), and the Alcazaba (11,350), the same plants were obtained, with the exception of the first named. At 11,150 feet on these mountains he collected Ptilotrichum purpureum, Lepidium stylatum, and Biscutella saxatilis; and, at 10,000 feet, Alyssum spicatum and Sideritis scordiodes. Mr. Packe says the following plants occur at 9,000 to 10,000 feet in the Pyrenees:⁠—Cerastium latifolium, Draba Wahlenbergii, Hutchinsia alpina, Linaria alpina, Oxyria reniformis, Ranunculus glacialis, Saxifraga nervosa, S. oppositifolia, S. Groenlandica, Statice Armeria, Veronica alpina.

Information on the botany of the Val Tournanche is contained in the little pamphlet by the Canon G. Carrel, entitled La Vallée de Valtornenche en 1867; and a list of the plants which have hitherto been collected on the glacier-surrounded ridge (Furgggrat) connecting the Matterhorn with the Col Théodule, will be found in Dollfus-Ausset’s Matériaux pour l’étude des Glaciers, vol. VIII, part first, 1868.

In the section of Illustrated Europe upon Zermatt (published at Zurich by Orell Füssli & Co.), Herr F. O. Wolf states that he found several plants in flower on the northern side of the Matterhorn nearly as high as “the shoulder.” ↩
I have already had occasion to mention the rapid changes which occur in the weather at considerable elevations in the Alps, and shall have to do so again in subsequent chapters. No one can regret more than myself the variable weather which afflicts that otherwise delightful chain of mountains, or the necessity of speaking about it. Its summits appear to enjoy more than their fair share of wind and tempests. Meteorological disturbances, it would seem, are by no means necessary accompaniments of high regions. There are some happy places which are said to be favoured with almost perpetual calm. Take the case of the Sierra Nevada of California, for example, which includes numerous summits from 13,000 to 15,000 feet. Mr. Whitney, of San Francisco, says (in his Guide-Book to the Yosemite Valley, and the Adjacent Region), “At high altitudes, all through the mountains, the weather during the summer is almost always the finest possible for travelling. There are occasional storms in the high mountains; but, in ordinary seasons, these are quite rare, and one of the greatest drawbacks to the pleasure of travelling in the Alps, the uncertainty of the weather, is here almost entirely wanting.” It is probable that a more thorough acquaintance with that region will modify this opinion; for it must be admitted that it is very difficult to judge of the state of the atmosphere at great heights from the valleys, and it often occurs that a terrific storm is raging above when there is a dead calm below, at a distance perhaps of not more than three or four miles. A case of this kind is described in Chapter VII, and another may be mentioned here. At the very time that I was regarding the Dent Blanche from a height of 12,550 feet on the Matterhorn, Mr. T. S. Kennedy was engaged in making the first ascent of the former mountain. He described his ascent in a very picturesque paper in the Alpine Journal (1863). I learn from it that he experienced severe weather. “The wind roared over our ridge, making fearfully wild music among the desolate crags.⁠ ⁠… It rendered an ordinary voice inaudible,” and “nothing at a distance greater than fifty yards could be seen at all.⁠ ⁠… Thick mists and driving clouds of snow swept over and past us;” the thermometer fell to 20° F, and his companion’s hair became a mass of white icicles. Now, at this time, Mr. Kennedy was distant from me only four and a half miles. With me, and in my immediate neighbourhood, the air was perfectly calm, and the temperature was agreeably warm; even during the night it fell only two or three degrees below freezing-point. During most of the day the Dent Blanche was perfectly unclouded, though, for a time, light fleecy clouds were hovering about its upper 2,000 feet. Still no one would have supposed from appearances that my friend was experiencing a storm such as he has described. ↩
See the engraving “Crags of the Matterhorn.” ↩
A remarkable streak of snow (marked “cravate” in the outline of the Matterhorn, as seen from the Théodule) runs across the cliff at this part of the mountain. My highest point was somewhat higher than the lowest part of this snow, and was consequently nearly 13,500 feet above the sea. ↩
I received much attention from a kind English lady (Mrs. J. H. Daniell) who was staying in the inn. ↩
As it seldom happens that one survives such a fall, it may be interesting to record what my sensations were during its occurrence. I was perfectly conscious of what was happening, and felt each blow; but, like a patient under chloroform, experienced no pain. Each blow was, naturally, more severe than that which preceded it, and I distinctly remember thinking “Well, if the next is harder still, that will be the end!” Like persons who have been rescued from drowning, I remember that the recollection of a multitude of things rushed through my head, many of them trivialities or absurdities, which had been forgotten long before; and, more remarkable, this bounding through space did not feel disagreeable. But I think that in no very great distance more, consciousness as well as sensation would have been lost, and upon that I base my belief, improbable as it seems, that death by a fall from a great height is as painless an end as can be experienced.

The battering was very rough, yet no bones were broken. The most severe cuts were one of four inches long on the top of the head, and another of three inches on the right temple: this latter bled frightfully. There was a formidable-looking cut, of about the same size as the last, on the palm of the left hand, and every limb was grazed, or cut, more or less seriously. The tips of the ears were taken off, and a sharp rock cut a circular bit out of the side of the left boot, sock, and ankle, at one stroke. The loss of blood, although so great, did not seem to be permanently injurious. The only serious effect has been the reduction of a naturally retentive memory to a very commonplace one; and although my recollections of more distant occurrences remain unshaken, the events of that particular day would be clean gone but for the few notes which were written down before the accident. ↩
An incident like this goes far to make one look favourably upon the règlements of Chamounix and other places. This could not have occurred at Chamounix, nor here, if there had been a bureau des guides. ↩
This appeared to be the most difficult part of the mountain. One was driven to keep to the edge of the ridge, or very near to it; and at the point where we turned back (which was almost as high as the highest part of the “cravate,” and perhaps 100 feet higher than my scramble on the 19th) there were smooth walls seven or eight feet high in every direction, which were impassable to a single man, and which could only be surmounted by the assistance of ladders, or by using one’s comrades as ladders. ↩
Professor Tyndall describes this incident in the following words:⁠—“We had gathered up our traps, and bent to the work before us, when suddenly an explosion occurred overhead. We looked aloft and saw in midair a solid shot from the Matterhorn describing its proper parabola, and finally splitting into fragments as it smote one of the rocky towers in front. Down the shattered fragments came like a kind of spray, slightly wide of us, but still near enough to compel a sharp lookout. Two or three such explosions occurred, but we chose the back fin of the mountain for our track, and from this the falling stones were speedily deflected right or left.” —⁠Saturday Review, Aug. 8, 1863. Reprinted in Macmillan’s Magazine, April, 1869 ↩
Saturday Review, August 8, 1863. ↩
Saturday Review, 1863, and Macmillan’s Magazine, 1869. ↩
I have entered into this matter because much surprise has been expressed that Carrel was able to pass the place without any great difficulty in 1865, which turned back so strong a party in 1862. The cause of Professor Tyndall’s defeat was simply that his second guide (Walter) did not give aid to Bennen when it was required, and that the Carrels would not act as guides after having been hired as porters. J.-A. Carrel not only knew of the existence of this place before they came to it; but always believed in the possibility of passing it, and of ascending the mountain; and had he been leader to the party I do not doubt that he might have taken Tyndall to the top. But when appealed to to assist Bennen (a Swiss, and the recognised leader of the party), was it likely that he (an Italian, a porter), who intended to be the first man up the mountain by a route which he regarded peculiarly his own, would render any aid?

It is not so easy to understand how Dr. Tyndall and Bennen overlooked the existence of this cleft, for it is seen over several points of the compass, and particularly well from the southern side of the Théodule pass. Still more difficult is it to explain how the Professor came to consider that he was only “a stone’s-throw” from the summit; for, when he got to the end of “the shoulder,” he must have been perfectly aware that the whole height of the final peak was still above him. ↩
Dr. Tyndall ascended the Matterhorn in 1868. See Appendix E. ↩
Information upon the Val Tournanche will be found in De Saussure’s Voyages dans les Alpes, vol. IV, pp. 379⁠–⁠81, 406⁠–⁠9; in Canon Carrel’s pamphlet, La Vallée de Valtornenche en 1867; and in King’s Italian Valleys of the Alps, pp. 220⁠–⁠1. ↩
I shall speak again of this mountain, and therefore pass it over for the present. ↩
See the Map of the Matterhorn and its Glaciers. ↩
My attention was directed to this note by Mr. A. Adams-Reilly. ↩
A few days before we crossed the Breuiljoch in 1863, Mr. F. Morshead made a parallel pass to it (which is now called the Furggjoch). He crossed the ridge on the western side of the little peak, and followed a somewhat more difficult route than ours. In 1865 I wanted to use Mr. Morshead’s pass (see Chapter XV) but found that it was not possible to descend the Zermatt side; for, during the two years which had elapsed, the glacier had shrunk so much that it was completely severed from the summit of the pass, and we could not get down the rocks that were exposed. ↩
The summit of the Théodule pass is 10,899 feet above the sea. It is estimated that of late about a thousand tourists have crossed it per annum. In the winter, when the crevasses are bridged over and partially filled up, and the weather is favourable, cows and sheep can still pass over it from Zermatt to Val Tournanche, and vice versa.

In the middle of August, 1792, De Saussure appears to have taken mules from Breuil, over the Val Tournanche Glacier to the summit of the Théodule; and on a previous journey he did the same, also in the middle of August. He distinctly mentions (§ 2220) that the glacier was completely covered with snow, and that no crevasses were open. Of late years, the glacier has usually been very bare of snow in the month of August, and has had many open crevasses.

Since 1855, or thereabouts, Zermatt has become one of the most popular Alpine resorts, and it is still growing in favour. Fifty years ago, the Théodule pass, the Weissthor, and the Col d’Hérens were, I believe, the only routes taken from this place across the Pennine Alps. At the present time there are more than two dozen ways by which a tourist may arrive or depart. The summits of some of the Cols are more than 14,000 feet above the sea.

Down to the middle of the century, the only inn at Zermatt was kept by the village doctor (Lauber). In 1852, Mons. Clemenz opened the Mont Cervin Hotel, and in 1855 M. Alexandre Seiler acquired and extended the original village inn (Monte Rosa Hotel). In 1867 he took over the Mont Cervin Hotel, and afterwards gradually made himself monarch of the place by his enterprise and geniality. The three principal hotels of Zermatt, as well as the Hotel on the Riffelberg (now termed the Riffelhaus), the larger establishment called the Riffel Alp Hotel, and the Hotel at the Lac Noir (Schwarzsee), are all under the control of his family.

The opening of the railway from Visp to Zermatt has again caused a large accession of visitors, and in the height of the season the place is overcrowded. ↩
This was the case in 1863. It is now a regular show place. ↩
“Un des faits les mieux constatés est que l’érosion des glaciers se distingue de celle des eaux en ce que la première produit des roches convexes ou moutonnées, tandis que la seconde donne lieu à des concavités.” —⁠Prof. B. Studer, Origine des Lacs Suisses ↩
The outline is a tracing from a photograph of weathered, unglaciated rocks. ↩
De Saussure was the author of the term roches moutonnées, and he gave (§ 1061) the following reason for its adoption:⁠—“Farther off, behind the village of Juviana or Envionne, rocks are seen having the shape which I call moutonnée.⁠ ⁠… The hillocks (montagnes) to which I apply this expression, are composed of a group of rounded prominences (têtes arrondies).⁠ ⁠… These contiguous and frequent domes (rondeurs) give, as a whole, the impression of a well-furnished fleece, or one of those wigs which are also called moutonnées.”

The term was an appropriate one, applied as De Saussure used it, but it is unmeaning when applied to the more perfectly glaciated, levelled surfaces. ↩
“One who is familiar with the track of this mighty engine will recognise at once where the large boulders have hollowed out their deeper furrows, where small pebbles have drawn their finer marks, where the stones with angular edges have left their sharp scratches, where sand and gravel have rubbed and smoothed the rocky surface, and left it bright and polished.⁠ ⁠… These marks are not to be mistaken by anyone who has carefully observed them; the scratches, furrows, grooves, are always rectilinear, tending in the direction in which the glacier is moving, and most distinct on that side of the surface-inequalities facing the direction of the moving mass, while the lee side remains mostly untouched.

“Here and there on the sides of the glacier it is possible to penetrate between the walls and the ice to a great depth, and even to follow such a gap to the very bottom of the valley; and everywhere do we find the surface of the ice fretted as I have described it, with stones of every size, from the pebble to the boulder, and also with sand and gravel of all sorts, from the coarsest grain to the finest, and these materials, more or less firmly set in the ice, form the grating surface with which, on its onward movement down the Alpine valleys, it leaves everywhere unmistakeable traces of its passage.” —⁠Agassiz, in The Atlantic Monthly ↩
Glaciated rocks which have been exposed to the atmosphere for any length of time, lose, of course, all such delicate touches. ↩
See Chapter VI. ↩
The account of Professor Steenstrup was, I believe, copied many years ago, when he was travelling in Iceland, from an original Icelandic MS. Professor Paijkull, of Upsala, was favoured by Professor Steenstrup with a sight of his MS., and printed some extracts from it in his work, En Sommer i Island, Copenhagen, 1867. The following paragraphs, which refer to this possibly unique occurrence, are taken from the English translation of that work.

“At the commencement of the eruption a stream burst forth, consisting principally of half-melted snow and large masses of ice, which tumbled about in the sea like floating islands; while, simultaneously, another stream issued in a southeasterly direction, and inflicted great injury on the land. The first of these two streams filled the sea with ice to such an extent that even from the highest mountains it was impossible to see open water till it was broken up by the action of the waves. It then drifted westward as far as Reykjanes, and up into the rivers along the coast, so that large icebergs were left standing in the bed of the river in the Ölfusá. The greater portion, however, of the ice that had been washed down from the glacier remained fixed aground at a distance of about seven miles from land, in a hundred fathoms water. It formed, moreover, a high ridge over the land from the sea as far as Hafrsey, a fjeld on Myrdalssandr.⁠ ⁠… A stream of similar terrific character broke out on the following day, and submerged the masses of ice that had been previously discharged into the sea, as far as the eye could reach. Further, it made its way through Kerlingar Valley, and dammed up the stream there. The deluge, or, more properly speaking, the ice, carried, moreover, immense masses of rock with it; and in the vicinity of Hjörleifshöfdi, a mountain on Myrdalssandr, a rock of twenty fathoms in height, entirely disappeared; not to speak of other instances. One can form some idea of the altitude of this barrier of ice, when it is mentioned that from Höfdabrekka farm, which lies high up on a fjeld of the same name, one could not see Hjörleifshöfdi opposite, which is a fell 640 feet in height; but in order to do so, had to clamber up a mountain slope east of Höfdabrekka, 1,200 feet high. The distance between Höfdabrekka and Hjörleifshöfdi is one (Danish) geographical mile, or the fifteenth part of a degree.” ↩
Geologists begin to speak of glacial periods of a much more remote date than that to which I am referring. ↩
The path on the right bank (southern side) of the valley is much more picturesque than that on the other side. For our route, see the maps of the Valley of Zermatt and the Valley of Valpelline. ↩
Professor Ruskin’s view of “the Cervin from the northwest” (Modern Painters, vol. IV) is taken from the Stockje. The Col du Lion is the little depression on the ridge, close to the margin of the engraving, on the right-hand side; the third tent-platform was formed at the foot of the perpendicular cliff, on the ridge, exactly one-third way between the Col du Lion and the summit. The battlemented portion of the ridge, a little higher up, is called the Crête du Coq; and the nearly horizontal portion of the ridge above it is “the shoulder.” ↩
Peaks, Passes, and Glaciers⁠—second series, vol. I, pp. 318⁠–⁠38.

The summit of the Col de Valpelline is about 11,650 feet above the sea. The pass is the easiest one in the Alps of this height, and (if the best route is followed) it may be crossed during fine weather, under favourable circumstances, without cutting a single step. If one does not take the best route, the pass, however, may become a difficult one. Much time and trouble will be saved by strictly adhering to the left bank (eastern side) of the Za-de-Zan (Zadesan) glacier. Mr. Jacomb followed the right bank.

There is a very fine view from a point that is situated about two-thirds of a mile S. by E. of the summit of the Col. This is marked 3,813 metres=12,410 feet on the Map of the Valley of Zermatt. It is connected with the Col by snow-covered glacier at a very moderate angle, and from it one looks well over the Tête Blanche, which is 200 feet less in elevation. I ascended it in 1866, presumably for the first time. On recently published maps of the Swiss Survey, it is called “Tête de Valpelline.” ↩
See Map of the Valley of Valpelline. The chalet is marked “la vielle.”

The reader will probably notice the discrepancies between this part of the Map of the Valley of Zermatt and that of the Valley of Valpelline. The latter one is correct. The former is after the Swiss Government map, which is extremely accurate on the Swiss side of the frontier line, but does not pretend to be so on the Italian side. ↩
In Chapter I it is stated that there was not a pass from Prerayen to Breuil in 1860, and this is correct. On July 8, 1868, my enterprising guide, Jean-Antoine Carrel, started from Breuil at 2 a.m. with a well-known comrade⁠—J. Baptiste Bich, of Val Tournanche⁠—to endeavour to make one. They went towards the glacier which descends from the Dent d’Hérens to the southeast, and on arriving at its base, ascended at first by some snow between it and the cliffs on its south, and afterwards took to the cliffs themselves. This glacier they called the glacier of Mont Albert, after the local name of the peak which on Mr. Reilly’s map of the Valpelline is called “Les Jumeaux.” On Mr. Reilly’s map the glacier is called “Glacier d’Erin.” They ascended the rocks to a considerable height, and then struck across the glacier, towards the north, to a small “rognon” (isolated patch of rocks) that is nearly in the centre of the glacier. They passed above this, and between it and the great seracs. Afterwards their route led them towards the Dent d’Hérens, and they arrived at the base of its final peak by mounting a couloir (gully filled with snow), and the rocks at the head of the glacier. They gained the summit of their pass at 1 p.m., and, descending by the glacier of Za-de-Zan, arrived at Prerayen at 6:30 p.m.

As their route joins that taken by Messrs. Hall, Grove, and Macdonald, on their ascent of the Dent d’Hérens in 1863, it is evident that that mountain can be ascended from Breuil. Carrel considers that the route taken by himself and his comrade Bich can be improved upon; and, if so, it is possible that the ascent of the Dent d’Hérens can be made from Breuil in less time than from Prerayen. Breuil is very much to be preferred as a starting-point. On July 17⁠–⁠18, 1873, Mr. A. G. Puller, with J.-J., J.-P., and E. Maquignaz, and Louis Carrel, ascended the Dent d’Hérens by this route, and descended to Prerayen. ↩
See Chapter I. The height of this pass, according to the late Canon Carrel, is 10,335 feet. ↩
The depressions in glaciated rocks (which are not water-worn) are more or less angular. See Chapter VI. ↩
This still remains the case. In 1892 I found the path from the village of Val Tournanche to Gioment was no better than in 1863. ↩
A brief account of this excursion was published in the Athenaeum, August 29, 1863. ↩
This incident occurred close to the place represented in this engraving. The new, dry snow was very troublesome, and poured down like flour into the steps which were cut across the slopes. The front man accordingly moved ahead as far as possible, and anchored himself to rocks. A rope was sent across to him, was fixed at each end, and was held as a rail by the others as they crossed. We did not trust to this rope alone, but were tied in the usual manner. The second rope was employed as an additional security against slips. ↩
“There is, therefore, little hope of thus arriving at anything decisive as to the exact part which echoes take in the production of the rolling sound of thunder.” —⁠p. 165, English ed., translated by Col. Sabine: Longmans, 1855 ↩
The same has seemed to me to be the case at all times when I have been close to the points of explosion. There has been always a distinct interval between the first explosion and the rolling sounds and secondary explosions which I have believed to be merely echoes; but it has never been possible (except in the above-mentioned case) to identify them as such.

Others have observed the same. “The geologist, Professor Theobald, of Chur, who was in the Solferino storm, between the Tschiertscher and Urden Alp, in the electric clouds, says that the peals were short, like cannon shots, but of a clearer, more cracking tone, and that the rolling of the thunder was only heard farther on.” —⁠Berlepsch’s Alps, English ed., p. 133 ↩
Mr. J. Glaisher has frequently pointed out that all sounds in balloons at some distance from the earth are notable for their brevity. “It is one sound only; there is no reverberation, no reflection; and this is characteristic of all sounds in the balloon, one clear sound, continuing during its own vibrations, then gone in a moment.” —⁠Good Words, 1863, p. 224

I learn from Mr. Glaisher that the thunderclaps which have been heard by him during his “travels in the air” have been no exception to the general rule, and the absence of rolling has fortified his belief that the rolling sounds which accompany thunder are echoes, and echoes only. ↩
See Appendix B for the experiences of Mr. R. B. Heathcote during a thunderstorm on the Matterhorn in 1869. ↩
Since then several persons have found themselves in this predicament for five or six consecutive days! ↩
I am speaking exclusively of the disturbances which occur in the daytime during fine weather. ↩
The rocks are sometimes so hot that they are almost painful to touch. ↩
The mists are extremely deceptive to those who are on the mountain itself. Sometimes they seem to be created at a considerable distance, as if the whole of the atmosphere of the neighbourhood was undergoing a change, when in reality they are being formed in immediate proximity to the mountain. ↩
For routes described in this chapter, see the General Map and the plan in the text. ↩
Croz was born at the village of Le Tour, in the Valley of Chamounix, on April 22, 1830; Almer was a year or two older. ↩
The Pointe des Écrins is also seen from the top of the Col de Valloires, rising above the Col du Galibier. This is the lowest elevation from which I have seen the actual summit of the Écrins. ↩
It should be observed that these mountains were included in the territory recently ceded to France. The Sardinian map above referred to was the old official map. The French survey alluded to afterwards is the survey in continuation of the great French official map. The sheet including the Aiguilles d’Arve was not then published. ↩
These three Aiguilles have now been climbed, on several occasions. See the Alpine Journal, vol. VIII, pp. 57⁠–⁠79, 1876; and vol. IX, pp. 95, 96, 1878. ↩
Whilst stopping in the hospice on the Col de Lautaret, in 1869, I was accosted by a middle-aged peasant, who asked if I would ride (for a consideration) in his cart towards Briançon. He was inquisitive as to my knowledge of his district, and at last asked, “Have you been at La Sausse?” “Yes.” “Well, then, I tell you, you saw there some of the first people in the world.” “Yes,” I said, “they were primitive, certainly.” But he was serious, and went on⁠—“Yes, real brave people;” and, slapping his knee to give emphasis, “but that they are first-rate for minding the cows!”

After this he became communicative. “You thought, probably,” said he, “when I offered to take you down, that I was some poor ⸻, not worth a sou; but I will tell you, that was my mountain! my mountain! that you saw at La Sausse; they were my cows! a hundred of them altogether.” “Why, you are rich.” “Passably rich. I have another mountain on the Col du Galibier, and another at Villeneuve.” He (although a common peasant in outward appearance) confessed to being worth four thousand pounds. ↩
We had seen a tracing from the unpublished sheets of the French Government Survey. ↩
The bracketed paragraphs in Chapters VIII, IX, and X are extracted from the Journal of Mr. A. W. Moore. ↩
It would be uninteresting and unprofitable to enter into a discussion of the confusion of these names at greater length. It is sufficient to say that they were confounded in a most perplexing manner by all the authorities we were able to consult, and also by the natives on the spot. ↩
The ridge called La Meije runs from E.S.E. to W.N.W., and is crowned by numerous aiguilles of tolerably equal elevation. Two of the highest are towards the eastern and western ends of the ridge, and are rather more than a mile apart. To the former the French surveyors assign a height of 12,730, and to the latter 13,080 feet.

In 1869 I carefully examined the eastern end of the ridge from the top of the Col de Lautaret, and saw that the summit at that end could be ascended by following a long glacier which descends from it towards the N.E. into the Valley of Arsine. I thought that the highest summit might present difficulties, but was possibly accessible. Since then it has been ascended many times. See the Alpine Journal, vols. IX, pp. 121⁠–⁠136, 411⁠–⁠27; XII, pp. 391⁠–⁠406, 410, 460⁠–⁠62; XIV, pp. 163, 326, 375⁠–⁠6; XV, 542.

Sheet 189 of the French map is inaccurate in the neighbourhood of the Meije, and particularly so on its northern side. The ridges and glaciers which are laid down upon it can scarcely be identified on the spot. ↩
The justness of the observation will be felt by those who knew La Grave in or before 1864. At that time the horses of the couriers who were passing from Grenoble to Briançon, and vice versa, were lodged immediately underneath the salle à manger and bedrooms, and a pungent, steamy odour rose from them through the cracks in the floor, and constantly pervaded the whole house. I am told that the inn has been improved since 1864. ↩
Our route from La Grave to La Bérarde will be seen on the accompanying map. ↩
Taking one kind of work with another, a thousand feet of height per hour is about as much as is usually accomplished on great Alpine ascents. ↩
Fig. 2 represents in a similar manner the distance and elevation of the Matterhorn from and above Zermatt. See the outline in Chapter IV. ↩
This wall may be described as an exaggerated Gemmi, as seen from Leukerbad. From the highest summit of La Meije right down to the Glacier des Étançons (a depth of about 3,200 feet), the cliff is all but perpendicular, and appeared to us to be completely unassailable. ↩
The drawing was inadvertently made the right way on the wood, and the view is now reversed in consequence. ↩
Quoted from Marsh’s Man and Nature. ↩
In 1887, a little inn was opened at La Bérarde, under the auspices of the Société des Touristes du Dauphiné. ↩
Alpine Journal, December 1863. ↩
It is shown in this engraving in Chapter II. It has several points nearly equally elevated, all of which seem to be accessible. One of them was ascended in 1870. ↩
There are more than twenty peaks exceeding 12,000 feet, and thirty others exceeding 11,000 feet, within the district bounded by the rivers Romanche, Drac, and Durance. ↩
Alpine Journal, vol. I, pp. 166⁠–⁠67, Dec. 1863. ↩
Alpine Journal, vol. I, pp. 72⁠–⁠73, June 1863. ↩
The most remarkable example which has come under my notice is referred to in Chapter XXI. ↩
See vol. I, p. 73, of Alpine Journal. We considered the height assigned to the final peak by Mr. Bonney was too small, and thought it should have been 200 feet more. ↩
The Glacier Blanc is in the direction indicated by the arrow below the letter E on the outline. ↩
The second ascent of the Pointe des Écrins was made by a French gentleman, named Vincent, with the Chamounix guides Jean Carrier and Alexandre Tournier. They followed our route, but reversed it; that is to say, ascended by the western and descended by the eastern arête. ↩
For route, see the map in Chapter IX. ↩
About half-a-mile above Claux there is a precipitous fall in the valley, and there (where the bed rock is too steep to allow debris to accumulate) roches moutonnées can be seen. At the same place the torrent of Aile Froide falls by some steep rapids through a wall-sided gorge, and the former eddyings of the water can be traced high up upon the cliffs. ↩
The path from Ville de Val Louise to Entraigues is good and well shaded by luxuriant foliage. The valley (d’Entraigues) is narrow; bordered by fine cliffs; and closed at its western end by a noble block of mountains, which looks much higher than it is. The highest point (the Pic de Bonvoisin) is 11,500 feet. Potatoes, peas, and other vegetables, are grown at Entraigues (5,284 feet), although the situation of the chalets is bleak, and cut off from the sun.

The Combe (or Vallon) de la Selle joins the main valley at Entraigues, and one can pass from the former by the little-known Col de Loup (immediately to the south of the Pic de Bonvoisin) into the Val Godemar. Two other passes, both of considerable height, lead from the head of the Vallon de la Selle into the valleys of Champoléon and Argentière. ↩
This, like many other names given to mountains and glaciers on sheet 189, is not a local name, or, at least, is not one that is in common use. ↩
The height of Col de Sellar (or de Celar) is 10,073 feet (Forbes). I was told by peasants at Entraigues that sheep and goats can be easily taken across it. ↩
See the map in Chapter IX. It is perhaps just possible, although improbable, that these little glaciers were united together at the time that the survey was made. Since then the glaciers of Dauphiné (as throughout the Alps generally) have shrunk very considerably. A notable diminution took place in their size in 1869, which was attributed by the natives to the very heavy rains of that year. ↩
This drawing was made to illustrate the remarks which follow. It does not represent any particular couloir, but it would serve, tolerably well, as a portrait of the one which we ascended when crossing the Col de Pilatte. ↩
The upper part of the southern side of the Col de Pilatte, and the small glaciers spoken of earlier in this chapter, can be seen from the high road leading from Briançon to Mont Dauphin, between the 12th and 13th kilometre stones (from Briançon). ↩
This passage, written in 1864, is perhaps, now, somewhat too sweeping; though, from recent experience in Dauphiné, it does not appear to stand in need of much qualification. ↩
Under the title of Massif du Mont Blanc, extrait des minutes de la Carte de France, levé par M. Mieulet, Capitaine d’État Major. ↩
Mr. Reilly’s map was published on a scale of ¹⁄₈₀₀₀₀ in 1865, at the cost of the Alpine Club, under the title The Chain of Mont Blanc. ↩
See the Map of the chain of Mont Blanc at the end of the volume.

This map has been drawn after the surveys of Mieulet, Dufour, and Reilly. To assist in its production, the Dépôt de la Guerre at Paris most liberally furnished me with special copies of Captain Mieulet’s map. The nomenclature of these authorities has been strictly followed. It may be remarked, however, that Captain Mieulet has departed, in many instances, from the spelling in common use. ↩
The heights (in metres) are after Captain Mieulet. ↩
Some of these heights have no business to figure in a list of the principal peaks of the chain, being nothing more than teeth or pinnacles in ridges, or portions of higher mountains. Such, for example, are the Aiguilles du Géant, du Dru, and de Bionnassay. ↩
These routes are laid down on the Map. ↩
Besides Mont Blanc itself. ↩
Previous to this we made an attempt to ascend the Aiguille d’Argentière, and were defeated by a violent wind when within a hundred feet of the summit. It is more convenient to refer to this expedition at the end of the chapter. ↩
Great crevasses. A bergschrund is a schrund, and something more. (See Chapter XIV.) ↩
The passage of the Col de Triolet from the Couvercle to Prè du Bar occupied 8½ hours of actual walking. If it had been taken in the contrary direction it would have consumed a much longer time. It gave a route shorter than any known at the time between Chamounix and the St. Bernard. As a pass I cannot conscientiously recommend it to anyone (see Chapter XIX), nor am I desirous to go again over the moraine on the left bank of the Glacier de Triolet, or the rocks of Mont Rouge. ↩
The ascent of Mont Dolent and return to Prè du Bar (halts included) occupied less than eleven hours. ↩
The bracketed paragraphs in this chapter are extracted from the notes of Mr. Reilly. ↩
From a sketch by Mr. Adams-Reilly. This camp was immediately at the foot of the snow seen upon the map to the N.W. of the words Mont Suc. ↩
This glacier is named on the map Glacier du Mont Blanc. ↩
The Calotte is the name given to the dome of snow at the summit of Mont Blanc. ↩
Glacier du Dôme. ↩
This is without a name. ↩
I do not know the origin of the term moraine. De Saussure says (vol. I, p. 380, § 536), “the peasants of Chamounix call these heaps of debris the moraine of the glacier.” It may be inferred from this that the term was a local one, peculiar to Chamounix. ↩
An example is referred to in Chapter VI. Much more remarkable cases might be instanced. ↩
It is not usual to find small moraines to large glaciers fed by many branches draining many different basins. That is, if the branches are draining basins which are separated by mountain ridges, or which, at least, have islands of rock protruding through the ice. The small moraines contributed by one affluent are balanced, probably, by greater ones brought by another feeder. ↩
Atlas of Physical Geography, by Augustus Petermann and the Rev. T. Milner, M.A., F.R.G.S. The italics are not in the original. ↩
“The stones that are found upon the upper extremities of glaciers are of the same nature as the mountains which rise above; but, as the ice carries them down into the valleys, they arrive between rocks of a totally different nature from their own.” —⁠De Saussure, § 536 ↩
The Unter Théodul, Klein Matterhorn, Breithorn, Schwärze, Zwillinge, Grenz, and Monte Rosa Glaciers, are all feeders of the Gorner. The Z’Mutt receives the Tiefenmatten, Stock, and Schönbühl Glaciers only. ↩
I refer to those portions of it which I have seen in the neighbourhood of Disco Bay. There are moraines in this district, but they were formed when the great Mer de Glace stretched nearer to the sea⁠—when it sent arms down through the valleys in the belt of land which now intervenes between sea and glacier. ↩
The striations which are found upon rocks over which glaciers have worked, are universally held by the ablest writers to be caused by foreign matter held in the grip of the ice, or rolling between it and the rock-bed (§ 9). If the principal source of the tools which make these marks is cut off, the marks should, of course, be less numerous.

The rarity of striations in the neighbourhood of the great Mer de Glace of Greenland was very noticeable. There was perfection of glaciation; but, over large areas, striations, flutings, and groovings were sometimes entirely wanting. Weathering, subsequently to the retreat of the ice, had not taken place, to any perceptible extent, in the localities to which I refer.

Striations, groovings, and flutings, can be found on the outskirt land; but they are less common in Greenland than in the Alps. ↩
The ascent of the Aiguille de Trélatête from our camp on Mont Suc (2½ hours above the Lac de Combal) and its descent to les Motets, occupied 9½ hours. After quitting the lake, the route led up the largest of the ravines on the S.E. side of Mont Suc, and then along the top of the gently-inclined snow-ridge which was at the summit of that buttress of the Trélatête. It then descended on to a branch of the Glacier d’Allée Blanche, through a gap in one of the minor ridges of Mont Suc. The course was then straight up this glacier (a little W. of N.), until the ridge was struck that descends from the summit of the Trélatête in the direction of Mont Blanc. This was followed, and the highest (central) peak (12,900 feet) was arrived at by passing over the peak No. 3 (12,782). It is possible to descend from the highest point of this mountain on to the Glacier de Trélatête. I wished to adopt this course in 1864, but was outvoted.

Mont Suc is a famous locality for crystals. We discovered several sparkling, fairy caves, encrusted with magnificent specimens, smoky and clear. As usual, the best were injured before they could be detached. ↩
The Col du Chardonnet is about 11,000 or 11,100 feet above the level of the sea. ↩
To the deep regret of his many friends, Mr. Anthony Adams-Reilly died suddenly in Dublin on April 15, 1885, aged 49. See the Alpine Journal, vol. XII, pp. 256⁠–⁠59. ↩
The lower Châlet de Lognan is 2½ hours’ walking from Chamounix. From thence to the summit of the Aiguille d’Argentière, and down to the village of the same name, occupied 12½ hours. ↩
Mr. Adolphus W. Moore, C.B., died at Monte Carlo, on Feb. 2, 1887, aged 46, having only just before been appointed Political and Secret Secretary at the India Office. See the Alpine Journal, vol. XIII, pp. 258⁠–⁠261. ↩
The Col de Zinal or Triftjoch, between the Trifthorn and the Ober Gabelhorn; and the Col Durand between the last-mentioned mountain and the Dent Blanche.

For our route from Zinal to Zermatt, see the Map of the Valley of Zermatt. ↩
High above the Glacier de Moming at the foot of the Crête de Milton. ↩
Moore’s Journal. ↩
Through what is technically called an “icefall.” ↩
The responsibility did not rest with Croz. His part was to advise, but not to direct. ↩
The summit of the pass has been marked on Dufour’s map 3,793 metres, or 12,444 feet. ↩
These snow-cornices are common on the crests of high mountain ridges, and it is always prudent (just before arriving upon the summit of a mountain or ridge) to sound with the alpenstock, that is to say, drive it in, to discover whether there is one or not. Men have often narrowly escaped losing their lives from neglecting this precaution.

These cornices are frequently rolled round in a volute, and sometimes take extravagant forms. See Chapter II. ↩
The opportunity is taken here to introduce to the reader some of the mountaineers who might have been seen at Zermatt in 1860⁠–⁠65, and a few of the guides who are mentioned in the course of my story. A Key to this plate is given in the Appendix.

The description is left unaltered, though it is, now, almost a picture of the past. Our good friend and host⁠—the “cordial and courteous” Seiler⁠—died on July 10, 1891, aged 72. ↩
See Chapter VII and Chapter XI. ↩
See Chapter VIII. ↩
See Chapter X. ↩
I engaged Croz for 1865 before I parted from him in 1864; but upon writing to him in the month of April to fix the dates of his engagement, I found that he had supposed he was free (in consequence of not having heard from me earlier), and had engaged himself to a Mr. B⁠⸺ from the 27th of June. I endeavoured to hold him to his promise, but he considered himself unable to withdraw from his later obligation. His letters were honourable to him. The following extract from the last one he wrote to me is given as an interesting souvenir of a brave and upright man:⁠—

↩
It was an entry describing an ascent of the Grand Cornier (which we supposed had never been ascended) from the very direction which we had just pronounced to be hopeless! It was especially startling, because Franz Biener was spoken of in the account as having been concerned in the ascent. On examining Biener it was found that he had made the excursion, and had supposed at the time he was upon his summit that it was the Grand Cornier. He saw afterwards that they had only ascended one of the several points upon the ridge running northwards from the Grand Cornier⁠—I believe, the Pigne de l’Allée (11,168 feet)!

An attempt was made in 1878 to climb the northern side of the Grand Cornier, and it was found impracticable. See Alpine Journal, vol. IX, p. 106. ↩
For route, see the Map of the Valley of Zermatt. ↩
I wrote in the Athenaeum, August 29, 1863, to the same effect. “This action of the frost does not cease in winter, inasmuch as it is impossible for the Matterhorn to be entirely covered by snow. Less precipitous mountains may be entirely covered up during winter, and if they do not then actually gain height, the wear and tear is, at least, suspended.⁠ ⁠… We arrive, therefore, at the conclusion that, although such snow-peaks as Mont Blanc may in the course of ages grow higher, the Matterhorn must decrease in height.” These remarks have received confirmation.

The men who were left by M. Dollfus-Ausset in his observatory upon the summit of the Col Théodule, during the winter of 1865, remarked that the snow was partially melted upon the rocks in their vicinity upon 19th, 20th, 21st, 22nd, 23rd, 26th, 27th December of that year, and upon the 22nd of December they entered in their Journal, “Nous avons vu au Matterhorn que la neige se fondait sur roches et qu’il s’en écoulait de l’eau.” —⁠Matériaux pour l’étude des Glaciers, vol. VIII, part I, p. 246, 1868; and vol. VIII, part II, p. 77, 1869 ↩
In each of the seven nights I passed upon the southwest ridge of the Matterhorn in 1861⁠–⁠3 (at heights varying from 11,844 to 12,992 feet above the level of the sea), the rocks fell incessantly in showers and avalanches. ↩
Tonson’s Ed. of 1758. Bacon may have had this passage in mind when he wrote, “It must not be thought that heat generates motion, or motion heat (though in some respects this be true), but that the very essence of heat, or the substantial self of heat, is motion and nothing else.” —⁠Novum Organum, book II. Devey’s Translation ↩
Doubtless, at the sides of glacier-beds, the range of temperature is greater. But there is evidence that the winter cold does not penetrate to the innermost recesses of glacier-beds in the fact that streams continue to flow underneath the ice all the year round, winter as well as summer, in the Alps and (I was informed in Greenland) in Greenland. Experimental proof can be readily obtained that even in midsummer the bottom temperature is close to 32° F. ↩
See Chapter VI, § 2. ↩
Professor Tyndall “On the Conformation of the Alps,” Phil. Mag., Sept. 1862. ↩
This was crossed, for the first time, on July 27, 1864, by the Rev. J. J. Hornby and Mr. Philpott, with Christian Lauener and Joseph Viennin. See Alpine Journal, vol. I, p. 431. The pass is now labelled, on the Swiss Government Maps, Col de la Dent Blanche. I prefer the original name. ↩
The following details may interest mountain-climbers. Left Zinal (5,505 feet) 2.5 a.m. Thence to plateau S.E. of summit of Grand Cornier, 5 h. 25 min. Plateau to summit of mountain, 2½ hours. The last 300 feet of the ridge followed were exceedingly sharp and narrow, with a great cornice, from which huge icicles depended. We were obliged to go underneath the cornice, and to cut a way through the icicles. Descent from summit to plateau, 1 h. 40 min. Sharp snowstorm, with thunder. Plateau to summit of Col du Grand Cornier (rocks easy), 45 min. From the summit of the Col to the end of glacier leading to the west, 55 min. Thence to Abricolla (7,959), 15 min. ↩
The brother of my guide Michel Croz. ↩
See note 81. ↩
See Map of the Valley of Zermatt. ↩
Couloirs are invariably protected at their bases by bergschrunds. An example of a couloir with a double bergschrund is shown in this illustration. ↩
The summit of the Dent Blanche is a ridge, perhaps one hundred yards in length. The highest point is usually at its northeastern end. ↩
The ascent of the Dent Blanche is one of the hardest that I have made. There was nothing upon it so difficult as the last 500 feet of the Pointe des Écrins; but, on the other hand, there was hardly a step upon it which was positively easy. The whole of the face required actual climbing. There was, probably, very little difference in difficulty between the route we took in 1865, and that followed by Mr. Kennedy in 1862.

The second ascent of the Dent Blanche was made by Mr. John Finlaison, with the guides Christian Lauener and Franz Zurfluh, in September 1864. See the Alpine Journal, vol. II, pp. 292⁠–⁠301, June 1866. ↩
See Map of the Valley of Zermatt. The route taken upon June 19 is alone marked. ↩
See Chapter IV. ↩
Subsequent experiences of others have strengthened this opinion. ↩
I prefer to be on the safe side. My impression is that snow cannot accumulate in large masses at 45°. ↩
Upon this subject I refer the reader to the valuable note furnished by Signor F. Giordano in the Appendix. ↩
See Chapter IV and Chapter V. ↩
Weathered granite is admirable rock to climb; its gritty texture giving excellent hold to the nails in one’s boots. But upon such metamorphic schists as compose the mass of the great peak of the Matterhorn, the texture of the rock itself is of little or no value. ↩
I refer here only to that portion of the ridge which is between the Col du Lion and the Great Tower. The remarks would not apply to the rocks higher up (see Chapter V); higher still the rocks are firm again; yet higher (upon the “shoulder+”) they are much disintegrated; and then, upon the final peak, they are again firm. ↩
Travels Through the Alps, 2nd ed. p. 317. ↩
Its position is shown by the letter F, on the right of the outline in Chapter V. See also Map of the Matterhorn and its Glaciers. ↩
See Chapter VI. ↩
See note 97. ↩
Tschudi’s Sketches of Nature in the Alps. ↩
Mr. King, in his Italian Valleys of the Alps, says, “In the pair (of horns) I possess, which are two feet long, there are eight of these yearly rings.” It would seem, therefore (if the rings are annual ones), that the maximum length of horn is attained at a comparatively early age. ↩
Jean Tairraz was the leading guide of the late Albert Smith on his celebrated ascent of Mont Blanc. ↩
In the autumn of 1892, a young bouquetin (supposed to be about three months old) was captured alive near Mont Collon, and was subsequently bought by M. Joseph Seiler, who kept it in the garden of the Mont Cervin hotel, at Zermatt. This little animal roamed about freely, but did not display extraordinary agility. ↩
“Cretinism may be looked upon as being the highest stage of Idiocy, although it differs from it, in having a vitiated state of the body, in conjunction with the loss of the faculties of the mind. Thus it is composed of two distinct elements⁠—the one, Idiocy, the other, bad habit of body.” —⁠Blackie, On Crétinism, p. 6 ↩
It was stated a few years ago that one in twenty-five of the natives of the Canton Valais (which is chiefly occupied by the valley of the upper Rhône) were cretins. This would give about 3,500 to the canton. At the same time the Valley of Aosta contained about 2,000 cretins. ↩
Voyages dans les Alpes, § 1033. ↩
Dr. Moffat communicated a paper on this subject at the 1870 meeting of the British Association at Liverpool, in which he stated he had ascertained that in a Carboniferous district goitre was prevalent, and that it was absent on New Red Sandstone. ↩
Goitre is endemic at Briançon, and frequently affects, temporarily, the soldiers who are stationed in that fortress. Chabrand (a doctor of Briançon) says that no less than one in twenty-five of the men of the 34th regiment of infantry, who were in garrison in 1857, became goitrous during their stay. This regiment came from Perpignan, where the disease is not common. —⁠Goître et Crétinisme endemique, Paris, 1864, p. 56 ↩
The substance of this paragraph is taken from the Bollettino del Club Alpino Italiano, No. 13, 1869. ↩
Blackie says that “Dr. Mottard mentions the case of a so-called goitre well near St. Julien in Maurienne, the water of which encrusted the trees in the vicinity with lime, and the use of which produced goitre in a couple of months; and he mentions five young men who had voluntarily drunk its water, and produced goitre, in order to be free from military service.”

Chabrand, in the pamphlet already quoted, says, “It is deplorable that young people who have a swelling of the thyroid gland (in the Briançonnais), far from endeavouring to get rid of it, occupy themselves only with making it bigger, in order to escape military service. Especially as the time of drawing for the conscription approaches, do they use every means supposed to be capable of producing goitre; drink much water, take ‘courses’ with burdens” (on their heads?) “and tighten the cravat above the swelling.⁠ ⁠… From 1842 to 1847 inclusive, 91 in 1,000 obtained exemption on account of goitre in the Department of the High Alps.” The same writer placed the number of goitrous persons in France at 450,000, and of cretins at 35,000 to 40,000. ↩
“Goitrous persons, exempt from military service, remain in their native districts, marry, and thus cause the disease to become hereditary. If, on the contrary, they were drawn, and were sent into untainted departments (particularly those upon the seacoast), they would return perfectly cured at the expiration of their term of service. Further, if goitrous persons were not exempt, a greater number of healthy individuals would remain at home, would marry, and would become parents of sound and vigorous children.” —⁠Guy and Dagand ↩
I am told (in 1893) that cretinism has diminished in the Valley of Aosta of late years, and that the opinion is still entertained that bad ventilation and want of air have much to do with the disease. ↩
An instance was mentioned to me, in 1869, of a small proprietor in the Valley of Aosta, who had a wife and several healthy children, having, successively, two good years with his vines. He ate and drank the proceeds up, instead of husbanding his resources, and in the two following years two cretin children were born to him. Several indifferently-good years succeeded, he was obliged to live frugally, and had several more children, all of whom were healthy. The parents were apparently free from all taint of cretinism. ↩
See Dr. Robert Christison On Some of the Medico-Legal Relations of the Habit of Intemperance, 1861; Dr. Edward Jarvis On the Causes of Insanity, 1851; and Reports of the Commissioners in Lunacy. ↩
Dr. Blackie gives the remarkable instance of “the island of Medwörth (Niederwörth), near Coblence, where the inhabitants hold no connection with those on shore, and consequently intermarry constantly with one another.” This island, according to Dr. Blackie, had no less than 40 cretins out of a population of 750. ↩
The case of the Val Sesia is not strictly in point, since it is not a tributary of the Val d’Aoste, but it may be quoted to show the extent to which this migration goes on. Mr. King says, “The population of the whole Val Sesia being estimated at 35,000, it is evidently utterly unable to maintain a tithe of that number from its own resources. The necessary result is, a regular periodical migration of all the able-bodied and active males, for varying lengths of time, into different parts of Europe.⁠ ⁠… A large number of the towns of Italy and France, as Genoa, Milan, Turin, and even Paris, are supplied with an immense influx of skilled labourers and artificers from these Vals. Some idea of the extent of this migration may be formed from the fact, that 8,000 Val Sesians leave their homes annually, many of them for years.” —⁠Italian Valleys of the Alps, p. 373 ↩
It may be mentioned, as a link in the evidence, that the Department of the Hautes-Alpes (which contains a prodigious number of cretins) has, according to Chipault, a larger proportion of deaf and dumb persons to its population than any other department of France, viz. 1 in 419. The Department of the Basses Pyrénées comes next, with 1 in 677. ↩
“M. Rambuteau (Préfet of the Department of the Simplon, under the first Napoleon) and M. Fodéré assure us, that at the close of last century the number of cretins in the Canton Valais diminished to a very great degree. The former attributed this amelioration to the embankment of the Rhône, and the draining of the marshes; to the clearing of the land; and the consequent changes in the character of the inhabitants, who became more industrious and active, and less given to gluttony and drunkenness. The latter author rather imputed it to the opening of the great pass of the Simplon, and consequent more easy communication with other countries, the people being thus more incited to bestir themselves,” etc.; Blackie, p. 53. This testimony, from authors who held totally different opinions as to the origin of cretinism, is strongly confirmatory of the conjecture last advanced. ↩
“Le crétinisme achevé est incurable; l’état physique et intellectuel des crétineux et des demi-crétins est susceptible d’amélioration par un traitement convenable, des soins et l’éducation; mais jamais on ne pourra faire d’eux des hommes complets sous le rapport physique, moral, et intellectuel.” —⁠Guy and Dagand on Crétinisme dans le Département de la Haute-Savoie ↩
Great expectations were raised some years ago by the reports of Dr. Guggenbühl, and by those of visitors to his establishment on the Abendberg, at Interlaken; but they have been disappointed, and the institution itself has been closed. ↩
At the expense of some unknown charitable person. Besides this establishment, there is an hospital at Aosta, belonging to the order of St. Maurice et Lazare, containing twelve beds for cretin children. ↩
It should be stated, that some of the clergy, at least, refuse to unite the worst kinds of cretins. I have heard it said, however, that all are not so particular; and, again, others have told me that cretins are never legally married in the Valley of Aosta. I imagine the truth to be, that some of the priests are scrupulous, and that others are not. The evidence of the natives upon this subject was so conflicting, that I applied to the late Canon Carrel (of Aosta) for information. His answer was sufficiently explicit as to the general custom:⁠—“Il y a des crétins qui parlent avec une certaine intelligence, et qui sont capables d’apprendre quelques vérités et quelques notions nécessaires aux devoirs sociaux. Ceux-ci contractent quelquefois mariage. Quant à ceux qui ont l’intelligence très obtuse, on ne leur permet pas le mariage, quoiqu’ils puissent encore engendrer ce qui tient plus de la loi naturelle que de la loi civile.” ↩
For further information upon cretinism, see the works of Ferrus, Niepce, Fabre, Séguin, Nystrom, Morel, etc. ↩
Debate on the Census Bill, on the motion by Sir John Lubbock to insert the words “whether married to a first cousin.” The opponents of Sir J. Lubbock’s motion should read Chipault Sur les Mariages Consanguines: Paris, 1863. ↩
De Saussure, §§ 954, 1030. ↩
See General Map. ↩
I was indebted for this fact to the late Professor Gastaldi. ↩
Revue des Deux Mondes. ↩
Essai sur les terrains superficiels de la Vallée du Po, extrait du Bulletin de la Société Géologique de France, 1850. ↩
See Forbes’ Occasional Papers on the Theory of Glaciers, pp. 193⁠–⁠95, and Travels Through the Alps of Savoy, 2nd ed. pp. 86⁠–⁠7, for information bearing upon the mean annual motion of existing Alpine glaciers. In the former work an account is given of the discovery of the remains of a knapsack ten years after it had been dropped in a crevasse, at a horizontal distance of 4,300 feet from the place at which it had been lost, showing an average annual motion of 430 feet. In the latter work there is a relation of the recovery of the remains of a ladder used by De Saussure, which had travelled about 13,000 feet in 44 years, or 295 feet per annum. Forbes says that the first of these two examples is better ascertained in all its particulars than the other. It should be observed that the knapsack in question made the descent of the well-known “icefall” of the Glacier de Talèfre, and that there was a difference of level between the place at which it was lost and that at which it was found of 1,145 feet; that is to say, it descended one foot in every four that it advanced. This rapid descent undoubtedly accelerates the motion of the Glacier de Talèfre. The town of Ivrea, on the other hand, is 768 feet (Ball) above the level of the sea, while Entrèves (at the foot of Mont Blanc) is 4,216 feet (Mieulet). So that the glacier which once spread over the sites of these two places (which are about 65 miles apart) descended by an average gradient of almost exactly 1 in 100. This moderate rate of inclination would as certainly tend to retard the motion of the glacier. ↩
This is understating the case. The thickness of the glacier exceeded 2,000 feet at the mouth of the valley, “where it had a width of 5¼ miles. In the valley itself, where the width was less, the thickness appears to have been considerably more than 2,000 feet. ↩
Professor Ramsay’s paper was printed in the Quarterly Journal Geol. Soc., August 1862. The germs of the Professor’s theory are to be found in his Old Glaciers of Switzerland and North Wales, 1860, pp. 86, 107, 109, 110. ↩
October 1864, and April 1865. ↩
I shall also occasionally refer to his Physical Geology and Geography of Great Britain, and to Old Glaciers of Switzerland, etc. ↩
Physical Geology and Geography of Great Britain, p. 86. ↩
Proc. Geol. Soc., Aug. 1862, p. 200. ↩
Physical Geology and Geography, p. 88. ↩
Proc. Geol. Soc., p. 199. ↩
Phil. Mag., October 1864, p. 303. ↩
Proc. Geol. Soc., 1862, p. 188. ↩
Proc. Geol. Soc., 1862, p. 200. ↩
Phil. Mag., October 1864, p. 305. ↩
Old Glaciers, pp. 104⁠–⁠5. ↩
Phil. Mag., April 1865, p. 298. ↩
Phys. Geol. and Geog. p. 90. ↩
Phil. Mag. Sept. 1862. ↩
Old Glaciers of Wales, p. 94. ↩
Phil. Mag. Nov. 1862, p. 379. ↩
See the note later in the chapter. ↩
The italics are not in the original. ↩
Comparison of the sentences placed in italics, with the preceding one from Dr. Tyndall, will show how irreconcilable were the opinions of these two writers. ↩
Birmingham Daily Post, September 13, 1865. ↩
It must not be understood that anything of the nature of a controversy was carried on, in the magazines cited, by the two Professors. They did not refer to each other by name; but it was impossible to read the passages which have been quoted, without feeling that they were intended to be replies to objections on the other side. ↩
See Chapter VI, § 8. ↩
See Chapter VI, § 7. ↩
Or, given sufficient time, of destroying highly-glaciated surfaces. ↩
See Chapter VI. ↩
It is not, of course, meant that there are no traces of glacier-action above 9,000 feet, upon rocks bounding, or surrounded by, the existing glaciers. There are, for example, many islands of rock in the Alps, surrounded by glacier, at elevations considerably exceeding 9,000 feet, which are highly glaciated. I refer to those mountains which are away from the existing glaciers, and which have never been influenced by them. ↩
The italics are not in the original. ↩
See Matériaux pour l’étude des Glaciers, vol. I, part III, p. 11. The same idea is repeated at several other places in the same work. ↩
Phil. Mag., Oct. 1864, p. 264. ↩
Phil. Mag., Oct. 1864, p. 266. ↩
Phil. Mag., Oct. 1864, p. 266. ↩
I do not know an instance where the reverse is the case. ↩
Phil. Mag., Oct. 1864, p. 265. ↩
See Chapter XI. ↩
I am, of course, aware that there are glacial deposits in Great Britain, and elsewhere, in which sub-angular and scratched stones are largely in excess of those which are simply angular. The manner in which such deposits were formed is not yet clearly understood. ↩
It has been already admitted (Chapter VI, § 5) that the minor asperities of rocks suffer, and may be actually crushed or scraped away. That this happens cannot be doubted, but this (comparatively speaking) speedily comes to an end. It is mere brushing of the surface preparatory to polishing. ↩
Professor (Sir A.) Ramsay died upon the 9th of December 1891, without having, so far as I am aware, either retracted or modified his opinions regarding the origin of lake-basins. ↩
Professor Ramsay claims to be the first who has pointed out this connection. Professor Dana extends the statement still further:⁠—“Another great fact that belongs to the Drift latitudes on all the continents, and may have the same origin, is the occurrence, on the coasts, of fjord valleys⁠—deep, narrow channels, occupied by the sea, and extending inward often 50 or 100 miles.” —⁠Manual of Geology, 1867, p. 541 ↩
No one can consult the excellent map which accompanies Martins’ and Gastaldi’s Terrains Superficiels without seeing in a moment, from the disposition of the moraines, that the great glacier of Aosta spread itself out when it arrived upon the plain. Hence, any material thickening through retardation was impossible. It can readily be shown that this spreading-out frequently occurs to the glaciers of the present time, when they pass from confined places on to open spaces (places where the valleys widen). ↩
The basins of the Lakes of Geneva, Neuchâtel, Thun, Zug, Lucerne, Zurich, Constance, etc. etc. ↩
For example, see the remarks of Prof. Favre upon the Lake of Geneva, in Phil. Mag., March 1865. ↩
Sir Charles Lyell, for example. In regard to the Lakes of Zurich, etc., see his Antiquity of Man, 3rd ed., pp. 314⁠–⁠16. ↩
In Greenland I have seen gneiss cracked away from quartz-veins in glaciated rocks, in this manner, to a depth of two inches and more. Where the same veins had been protected from the atmosphere, they were without the little trenches on each side. To the same effect see Geikie “On Modern Denudation,” Trans. Geol. Soc. Glasgow, 1868. ↩
“In descending from the summit of the Weisshorn on the 19th of August last I found, near the flanks of one of its glaciers, a portion of the ice completely roofing a hollow, over which it had been urged without being squeezed into it.” —⁠Tyndall’s Mountaineering in 1861, p. 73. Dr. Tyndall’s testimony is especially valuable, because he is by no means prejudiced in favour of the views which I am supporting. ↩
Sir Charles Lyell remarks with much force, in the 6th ed. of his Elements, p. 170, “Where opportunities are enjoyed of seeing part of a valley from which a glacier has retreated in historical times, no basin-shaped hollows are conspicuous. Dome-shaped protuberances, the roches moutonnées, before described, are frequent; but the converse of them, or cup-and-saucer-shaped cavities, are wanting.” The justness of these observations is undeniable. The perusal of Professor Ramsay’s papers would lead anyone personally unacquainted with glaciated rocks to conclude that the reverse was the case⁠—that saucer-shaped hollows were abundant, or, in other words, that concavities predominated. ↩
I cannot find anything more explicit than this:⁠—“The greater number lie in rock-basins formed by the grinding of glacier-ice.” This is simple assertion; now for the proof. “Sometimes in the convolutions of the strata (conjoined with preglacial denudation subsequent to the contortion of the beds) softer parts of the country may have been scooped out; but perhaps more generally they were formed by the greater thickness and weight of glacier-ice on particular areas, due to accidents to which it is now often difficult or impossible to find the clue.” —⁠Proc. Geol. Soc., 1862, p. 188 ↩
For some of the more important objections, see Sir R. Murchison’s “Address to the Royal Geog. Soc.” 1864; Sir C. Lyell’s Antiquity of Man and Elements of Geology; Prof. Studer’s Origine des Lacs Suisses; Prof. Favre in Phil. Mag. March 1865; and Mr. John Ball in Phil. Mag. Feb. 1863. ↩
Professor Guyot has remarked striations ascending towards the mouth of the valley in places where the valley narrows. See Gastaldi’s Terrains Superficiels. ↩
Phil. Mag., Oct. 1864, pp. 305⁠–⁠6. ↩
Professor Gastaldi had published the same fact more than twelve years before. “On voit au ravin du torrent de Boriana, qui descend de la tourbière de San-Giovanni, que le terrain glaciare eparpillé supporte la moraine superficielle, et se confond lui-même avec le diluvium Alpin qui repose inférieurement sur le pliocène marin.” —⁠Terrains Superficiels, 1850 ↩
For route, see Map of the chain of Mont Blanc. ↩
The ascent of the Grandes Jorasses was made to obtain a view of the upper part of the Aiguille Verte, and upon that account the westernmost summit (overlooking the Mer de Glace) was selected in preference to the highest one. Both summits are shown upon the accompanying engraving. That on the right is (as it appears to be) the highest. That upon its left is the one which we ascended, and is about 100 feet lower than the other. A couple of days after our ascent, Julien Grange, Henri Grati, Jos. Mar. Perrod, Alexis Clusaz, and Daniel Gex (all of Courmayeur), followed our traces to the summit in order to learn the way. As far as my observation extends, such things are seldom done by money-grasping or spiritless guides, and I have much pleasure in being able to mention their names. The highest point (13,799) was ascended on June 29⁠–⁠30, 1868, by Mr. Horace Walker, with the guides Julien Grange, Melchior Anderegg, and J. Jaun. ↩
The view of Mont Blanc from a gorge on the south of the Italian Val Ferret, midway between the villages of La Vachey and Praz See, and about 3,000 feet above them, is, in my opinion, the finest which can be obtained of that mountain range anywhere upon the Italian side. ↩
This observation is not made without reason. I have seen the head of one tumble off at a slight tap, in consequence of its handle having been perforated by an ingenious but useless arrangement of nails. ↩
It occupies about one-sixth of an inch upon the map. I estimate its height at 1,200 feet. The triangulation of Capt. Mieulet places the summit of the pass 11,624 feet above the sea. This, I think, is rather too high.

So far as I am aware, the Col Dolent was not again crossed until 1878. On Sept. 2, of that year, Messrs. W. E. Davidson and J. W. Hartley, with the guides Johann Jaun and Laurent Lanier, traversed it in the reverse direction. ↩
Wanderings Among the High Alps, 1858. ↩
See the Alpine Journal, vol. XI, pp. 172⁠–⁠4. ↩
Most of his principal exploits are recorded in the publications of the Alpine Club. ↩
Engraved, by permission, from a photograph by Mr. E. Edwards. ↩
Admirably rendered in the accompanying drawing by Mr. Cyrus Johnson. The “ripple-marks” are seen in the next engraving in this chapter. ↩
See Agassiz in Atlantic Monthly, Dec. 1863; and Mr. J. Ball in Phil. Mag. Dec. 1857 (supplementary number), and April 1859. ↩
The late Principal J. D. Forbes was the first to attach any importance to the veined structure of glaciers. I gather the following definitions of it from different pages of his Occasional Papers. “I cannot more accurately describe it, than by calling it a ribboned structure, formed by thin and delicate blue and bluish-white bands or strata, which appear to traverse the ice in a vertical direction, or rather which, by their apposition, formed the entire mass of the ice. The direction of these bands was parallel to the length of the glacier” (p. 3). “In some parts of the glacier it appears more developed than in others.⁠ ⁠… It penetrates the thickness of the glacier to great depths. It is an integral part of its inmost structure” (p. 5). “The breadth of these (bands) varies from a small fraction of an inch to several inches” (p. 8). “This structure consists in the alternation of more or less perfectly crystallised ice in parallel layers, often thinning out altogether like veins in marble” (p. 19).

Forbes’ “veined structure” is frequently cut, both horizontally and vertically, by other veins, which latter seem to me to have clearly a different origin from the former. Proper discrimination has not hitherto been made between the two. Observers sometimes call one, sometimes the other, and sometimes both, the “veined structure.” It would, I think, be convenient and appropriate to term Forbes’ structure “the laminated structure of glacier.” In 1867, upon the surface of a glacier in the Jakobshavn district, North Greenland, I saw three series of veins crossing each other in three different directions, forming a crossbar or network pattern upon the ice. This was certainly not Forbes’ structure. ↩
This of course proves that the origin of all the veins is not found in stratification, but it does not prove (as some appear to think) that all of the veins have a different origin. ↩
I believe that I have seen the planes of the original bedding still remaining parallel to the surface in some icebergs floating into Disco Bay, which had come from a glacier at least 20 miles long. If I am not mistaken, this is a most important and significant fact. ↩
Sometimes, probably thickened by pressure. ↩
I have often seen these veins in icebergs intersecting each other. Dr. Rink has shown this in an illustration in his Grönland Geographisk og Statistisk, vol. I, 1852. ↩
Charpentier long ago advanced the opinion that the motion of glaciers was promoted by freezing of water in crevasses. His notion is commonly regarded as exploded, but there may be something in it after all. ↩
The same thing is to be noticed in regard to the blue veins of the veined structure. The veins frequently thin out and are lost, or swell into lenticular masses. This is best seen when the veins are regarded in vertical sections of the glacier. ↩
Or, upon the Map of the chain of Mont Blanc, to within a third of an inch of the black triangle which marks the summit. ↩
I have heard of two well-known mountaineers who, under the influence of sudden alarm, swallowed their crystals. I am happy to say that they were able to cough them up again. ↩
Hand specimens of the highest rocks of the Aiguille Verte cannot be distinguished from granite. The rock is almost identical in quality with that at the summit of Mont Dolent, and is probably a granitöid gneiss. ↩
The summit of the Aiguille Verte was a snowy dome, large enough for a quadrille. I was surprised to see the great height of Les Droites. Capt. Mieulet places its summit at 13,222 feet, but I think it is very slightly lower than the Verte itself. ↩
The Chamounix tariff price for the ascent of the Aiguille is now placed at £4 per guide. ↩
It should be said that we received the most polite apologies for this affair from the chief of the gensdarmes, and an invitation to lodge a complaint against the ringleaders. We accepted his apologies, and declined his invitation. Needless to add, Michel Croz took no part in the demonstration.

Mr. Kennedy’s ascent of the Aiguille Verte is described in the Alpine Journal, vol. III, pp. 68⁠–⁠75. ↩
Below the second icefall the glacier is completely covered up with moraine matter, and if the left bank is followed, one is compelled either to traverse this howling waste or to lose much time upon the tedious and somewhat difficult rocks of Mont Rouge. ↩
In glissading an erect position should be maintained, and the point of the alpenstock allowed to trail over the snow. If it is necessary to stop, or to slacken speed, the point is pressed against the slope, as shown in the illustration. ↩
Comparison of the Col de Triolet with the Col de Talèfre will show what a great difference in ease there may be between tracks which are nearly identical. For a distance of several miles these routes are scarcely more than half-a-mile apart. Nearly every step of the former is difficult, whilst the latter has no difficulty whatever. The route we adopted over the Col de Talèfre may perhaps be improved. It may be possible to go directly from the head of the Glacier de Triolet to its right bank, and, if so, at least thirty minutes might be saved.

The following is a list of the so-called passes across the main ridge of the range of Mont Blanc, with the years in which the first passages were effected, so far as I know them:⁠—1. Col de Trélatête (1864), between Aig. du Glacier and Aigs. de Trélatête. 2. Col dit Infranchissable (1870), between the Aigs. de Trélatête and the Aig. de Miage. 3. Col de Miage, between Aig. de Miage and Aig. de Bionnassay. 4. Col du Dôme (1865), over the Dôme du Goûter. 5. Col du Mont Blanc (1868), over Mont Blanc. 6. Col de la Brenva (1865), between Mont Blanc and Mont Maudit. 7. Col de la Tour Ronde (1867), over la Tour Ronde. 8. Col du Géant, between la Tour Ronde and Aigs. Marbrées. 9. Col de Rochefort (1876), between the Aiguilles Marbrées and the Aig. du Géant. 10. Col des Grandes Jorasses (1874), between Mont Mallet and the Grandes Jorasses. 11. Col des Hirondelles (1873), between the Grandes and Petites Jorasses. 12. Col de Leschaux (1877), between the Aig. de l’Éboulement and the Aig. de Leschaux. 13. Col Pierre Joseph (1866), over Aig. de l’Éboulement. 14. Col de Talèfre (1865), between Aigs. Talèfre and Triolet. 15. Col de Triolet (1864), between Aigs. Talèfre and Triolet. 16. Col Dolent (1865), between Aig. de Triolet and Mont Dolent. 17. Col d’Argentière (1861), between Mont Dolent and la Tour Noire. 18. Col de la Tour Noire (1863), between the Tour Noire and the Aig. d’Argentière. 19. Col du Chardonnet (1863), between Aigs. d’Argentière and Chardonnet. 19. Col du Tour (earlier than 1846), between Aigs. du Chardonnet and du Tour. ↩
For routes, see the Map of the Valley of Valpelline. ↩
After crossing the Glacier de Breney, we ascended some debris, and then some cliffy ground, to the glacier which surrounds the peak upon the south; bore to the left (that is to the west) and went up the edge of the glacier; and lastly took to the arête of the ridge which descends towards the southwest, and followed it to the summit. ↩
Manufactured and sold by Mr. J. Buckingham, 196 Shaftesbury Avenue, W.C. ↩
For example, when the leader suspects crevasses, and sounds for them, in the manner shown in the engraving, he usually loses half a step or more. The second man should take a turn of the rope round his hand to draw it back in case the leader goes through. ↩
When several persons are descending such places, it is evident that the last man cannot derive any assistance from the rope, and so might as well be untied. Partly upon this account, it is usual to place one of the strongest and steadiest men last. Now, although this cannot be termed a senseless precaution, it is obvious that it is a perfectly useless one, if it is true that a single slip would upset the entire party. The best plan I know is that which we adopted on the descent of the Col Dolent, namely, to let one man go in advance until he reaches some secure point. This one then detaches himself, the rope is drawn up, and another man is sent down to join him, and so on until the last. The last man still occupies the most difficult post, and should be the steadiest man; but he is not exposed to any risk from his comrades slipping, and they, of course, draw in the rope as he descends, so that his position is less hazardous than if he were to come down quite by himself. ↩
On Swiss Government Maps this pass is now called Col d’Oren. ↩
During the preceding eighteen days (I exclude Sundays and other non-working days) we ascended more than 100,000 feet, and descended 98,000 feet. ↩
See Chapter V. ↩
Tourists congregate at Zermatt upon Sundays, and large gangs and droves usually cross the Théodule pass on Mondays. ↩
The Italian Minister. Signor Giordano had undertaken the business arrangements for Signor Sella. ↩
Peter Taugwalder, the father, is called old Peter, to distinguish him from his eldest son, young Peter. In 1865 the father’s age was about 45. ↩
Brother of the present Marquis of Queensberry. An account of his ascent of the Gabelhorn, on July 7, 1865 (the first made on the Zinal side) was found after his death amongst his papers, and was published in the Alpine Journal, vol. II, pp. 221⁠–⁠2. ↩
For route, and the others mentioned in the subsequent chapters, see the Map of the Matterhorn and its Glaciers. ↩
In the Alpine Journal, vol. III, pp. 75⁠–⁠76, Mr. T. S. Kennedy, in speaking of this ascent (which was I believe made upon the 7th of July 1865), says that Mr. Hadow went from the Grands Mulets to the summit of Mont Blanc in less than four hours and a half, and descended from the summit to Chamounix in five hours. ↩
The two young Taugwalders were taken as porters, by desire of their father, and carried provisions amply sufficient for three days, in case the ascent should prove more troublesome than we anticipated. ↩
I remember speaking about pedestrianism to a well-known mountaineer some years ago, and venturing to remark that a man who averaged thirty miles a-day might be considered a good walker. “A fair walker,” he said, “a fair walker.” “What then would you consider good walking?” “Well,” he replied, “I will tell you. Some time back a friend and I agreed to go to Switzerland, but a short time afterwards he wrote to say he ought to let me know that a young and delicate lad was going with him who would not be equal to great things, in fact, he would not be able to do more than fifty miles a-day!” “What became of the young and delicate lad?” “He lives.” “And who was your extraordinary friend?” “Charles Hudson.” I have every reason to believe that the gentlemen referred to were equal to walking more than fifty miles a-day, but they were exceptional, not good pedestrians.

Charles Hudson, Vicar of Skillington in Lincolnshire, was considered by the mountaineering fraternity to be the best amateur of his time. He was the organiser and leader of the party of Englishmen who ascended Mont Blanc by the Aig. du Goûter, and descended by the Grands Mulets route, without guides, in 1855. His long practice made him surefooted, and in that respect he was not greatly inferior to a born mountaineer. I remember him as a well-made man of middle height and age, neither stout nor thin, with face pleasant⁠—though grave, and with quiet unassuming manners. Although an athletic man, he would have been overlooked in a crowd; and although he had done some of the greatest mountaineering feats which have been done, he was the last man to speak of his own doings. His friend Mr. Hadow was a young man of nineteen, who had the looks and manners of a greater age. He was a rapid walker, but 1865 was his first season in the Alps. Lord Francis Douglas was about the same age as Mr. Hadow. He had had the advantage of several seasons in the Alps. He was nimble as a deer, and was becoming an expert mountaineer. Just before our meeting he had ascended the Ober Gabelhorn (with old Peter Taugwalder and Jos. Viennin), and this gave me a high opinion of his powers; for I had examined that mountain all round, a few weeks before, and had declined its ascent on account of its apparent difficulty.

My personal acquaintance with Mr. Hudson was very slight⁠—still I should have been content to have placed myself under his orders if he had chosen to claim the position to which he was entitled. Those who knew him will not be surprised to learn that, so far from doing this, he lost no opportunity of consulting the wishes and opinions of those around him. We deliberated together whenever there was occasion, and our authority was recognised by the others. Whatever responsibility there was devolved upon us. I recollect with satisfaction that there was no difference of opinion between us as to what should be done, and that the most perfect harmony existed between all of us so long as we were together. ↩
Arrived at the chapel 7:30 a.m.; left it 8:20; halted to examine route 9:30; started again 10:25, and arrived at 11:20 at the cairn made by Mr. Kennedy in 1862 (see Chapter V), marked 3,298 metres upon the Map of the Matterhorn and its Glaciers. Stopped 10 min. here. From the Hörnli to this point we kept, when possible, to the crest of the ridge. The greater part of the way was excessively easy, but there were a few places where the axe had to be used. ↩
Thus far the guides did not once go to the front. Hudson or I led, and when any cutting was required we did it ourselves. This was done to spare the guides, and to show them that we were in earnest. The spot at which we camped was four hours’ walking from Zermatt, and is marked upon the map⁠—camp (1865). It was just upon a level with the Furgggrat, and its position is indicated upon the engraving in Chapter XV by a little circular white spot, in a line with the word camp. ↩
It was originally intended to leave both of the young men behind. We found it difficult to divide the food, and so the new arrangement was made. ↩
See Chapter XV. ↩
For track, see the lower of the outlines in Chapter XV. ↩
See remarks on arêtes and faces in Chapter XIII. There is very little to choose between in the arêtes leading from the summit towards the Hörnli (N.E. ridge) and towards the Col du Lion (S.W. ridge). Both are jagged, serrated ridges, which any experienced climber would willingly avoid if he could find another route. On the northern (Zermatt) side the eastern face affords another route, or any number of routes, since there is hardly a part of it which cannot be traversed! On the southern (Breuil) side the ridge alone, generally speaking, can be followed; and when it becomes impracticable, and the climber is forced to bear down to the right or to the left, the work is generally of the most difficult character. ↩
Very few stones fell during the two days I was on the mountain, and none came near us. Others who have followed the same route have not been so fortunate; they may not, perhaps, have taken the same precautions. It is a noteworthy fact, that the lateral moraine of the left bank of the Furgggletscher is scarcely larger than that of the right bank, although the former receives all the debris that falls from the 4,000 feet of cliffs which form the eastern side of the Matterhorn, whilst the latter is fed by perfectly insignificant slopes. Neither of these moraines is large. This is strong evidence that stones do not fall to any great extent from the eastern face. The inward dip of the beds retains the detritus in place. Hence the eastern face appears, when one is upon it, to be undergoing more rapid disintegration than the other sides: in reality, the mantle of ruin spares the mountain from farther waste. Upon the southern side, rocks fall as they are rent off; “each day’s work is cleared away” every day; and hence the faces and ridges are left naked, and are exposed to fresh attacks. ↩
The snow seen in the engraving in Chapter XV, half-an-inch below the summit, and a little to its right. ↩
This part was less steeply inclined than the whole of the eastern face. ↩
I have no memorandum of the time that it occupied. It must have taken about an hour and a half. ↩
The highest points are towards the two ends. In 1865 the northern end was slightly higher than the southern one. In bygone years Carrel and I often suggested to each other that we might one day arrive upon the top, and find ourselves cut off from the very highest point by a notch in the summit-ridge which is seen from the Théodule and from Breuil (marked D on the outline in Chapter V). This notch is very conspicuous from below, but when one is actually upon the summit it is hardly noticed, and it can be passed without the least difficulty. ↩
I have learnt since from J.-A. Carrel that they heard our first cries. They were then upon the southwest ridge, close to the “cravate,” and twelve hundred and fifty feet below us; or, as the crow flies, at a distance of about one-third of a mile. ↩
At our departure the men were confident that the ascent would be made, and took one of the poles out of the tent. I protested that it was tempting Providence; they took the pole nevertheless. ↩
Signor Giordano was naturally disappointed at the result, and wished the men to start again. They all refused to do so, with the exception of Jean-Antoine. Upon the 16th of July he set out again with three others, and upon the 17th gained the summit by passing (at first) up the southwest ridge, and (afterwards) by turning over to the Z’Mutt, or northwestern side. On the 18th he returned to Breuil.

Whilst we were upon the southern end of the summit-ridge, we paid some attention to the portion of the mountain which intervened between ourselves and the Italian guides. It seemed as if there would not be the least chance for them if they should attempt to storm the final peak directly from the end of the “shoulder.” In that direction cliffs fell sheer down from the summit, and we were unable to see beyond a certain distance. There remained the route about which Carrel and I had often talked, namely, to ascend directly at first from the end of the “shoulder,” and afterwards to swerve to the left⁠—that is, to the Z’Mutt side⁠—and to complete the ascent from the northwest. When we were upon the summit we laughed at this idea. The part of the mountain that I have described earlier in this chapter was not easy, although its inclination was moderate. If that slope were made only ten degrees steeper, its difficulty would be greatly increased. To double its inclination would be to make it impracticable. The slope at the southern end of the summit-ridge, falling towards the northwest, was much steeper than that over which we passed, and we ridiculed the idea that any person should attempt to ascend in that direction, when the northern route was so easy. Nevertheless, the summit was reached by that route by the undaunted Carrel. From knowing the final slope over which he passed, and from the account of Mr. F. C. Grove⁠—who is the only traveller by whom it has been traversed⁠—I do not hesitate to term the ascent of Carrel and Bich in 1865 the most desperate piece of mountain-scrambling upon record. In 1869 I asked Carrel if he had ever done anything more difficult. His reply was, “Man cannot do anything much more difficult than that!” See Appendix C. ↩
The summit-ridge was much shattered, although not so extensively as the southwest and northeast ridges. The highest rock, in 1865, was a block of micaschist, and the fragment I broke off it not only possesses, in a remarkable degree, the character of the peak, but mimics, in an astonishing manner, the details of its form. (See illustration in Chapter XXII.) ↩
The substance of Chapter XXII appeared in a letter in the Times, August 8, 1865. A few paragraphs have now been added, and a few corrections have been made. The former will help to make clear that which was obscure in the original account, and the latter are, mostly, unimportant. ↩
If the members of the party had been more equally efficient, Croz would have been placed last. ↩
Described in Chapter XXI. ↩
Not at all an unusual proceeding, even between born mountaineers. I wish to convey the impression that Croz was using all pains, rather than to indicate inability on the part of Mr. Hadow. The insertion of the word “absolutely” makes the passage, perhaps, rather ambiguous. I retain it now, in order to offer the above explanation. ↩
At the moment of the accident, Croz, Hadow, and Hudson, were close together. Between Hudson and Lord F. Douglas the rope was all but taut, and the same between all the others who were above. Croz was standing by the side of a rock which afforded good hold, and if he had been aware, or had suspected, that anything was about to occur, he might and would have gripped it, and would have prevented any mischief. He was taken totally by surprise. Mr. Hadow slipped off his feet on to his back, his feet struck Croz in the small of the back, and knocked him right over, head first. Croz’s axe was out of his reach, and without it he managed to get his head uppermost before he disappeared from our sight. If it had been in his hand I have no doubt that he would have stopped himself and Mr. Hadow.

Mr. Hadow, at the moment of the slip, was not occupying a bad position. He could have moved either up or down, and could touch with his hand the rock of which I have spoken. Hudson was not so well placed, but he had liberty of motion. The rope was not taut from him to Hadow, and the two men fell ten or twelve feet before the jerk came upon him. Lord F. Douglas was not favourably placed, and could neither move up nor down. Old Peter was firmly planted, and stood just beneath a large rock which he hugged with both arms. I enter into these details to make it more apparent that the position occupied by the party at the moment of the accident was not by any means excessively trying. We were compelled to pass over the exact spot where the slip occurred, and we found⁠—even with shaken nerves⁠—that it was not a difficult place to pass. I have described the slope generally as difficult, and it is so undoubtedly to most persons; but it must be distinctly understood that Mr. Hadow slipped at a comparatively easy part. ↩
Or, more correctly, we held on as tightly as possible. There was no time to change our position. ↩
These ends, until recently, were still attached to the rocks, and marked our line of ascent and descent. ↩
See Frontispiece. I paid very little attention to this remarkable phenomenon, and was glad when it disappeared, as it distracted our attention. Under ordinary circumstances I should have felt vexed afterwards at not having observed with greater precision an occurrence so rare and so wonderful. I can add very little about it to that which is said above. The sun was directly at our backs; that is to say, the fog-bow was opposite to the sun. The time was 6:30 p.m. The forms were at once tender and sharp; neutral in tone; were developed gradually, and disappeared suddenly. The mists were light (that is, not dense), and were dissipated in the course of the evening.

Fog-bow.

It has been suggested that the crosses are incorrectly figured in the Frontispiece, and that they were probably formed by the intersection of other circles or ellipses, as shown in the annexed diagram. I think this suggestion is very likely correct; but I have preferred to follow my original memorandum.

In Parry’s Narrative of an Attempt to Reach the North Pole, 4to, 1828, there is, at pp. 99⁠–⁠100, an account of the occurrence of a phenomenon analogous to the above-mentioned one. “At half-past five p.m. we witnessed a very beautiful natural phenomenon. A broad white fog-bow first appeared opposite to the sun, as was very commonly the case,” etc. I follow Parry in using the term fog-bow.

It may be observed that, upon the descent of the Italian guides (whose expedition is noticed in note 371, and again in the Appendix), upon July 17th, 1865, the phenomenon commonly termed the Brocken was observed. The following is the account given by the Abbé Amé Gorret in the Feuille d’Aoste, October 31, 1865:⁠—“Nous étions sur l’épaule” (the “shoulder”) “quand nous remarquâmes un phénomène qui nous fit plaisir; le nuage était très-dense du côté de Valtornanche, c’était serein en Suisse; nous nous vîmes au milieu d’un cercle aux couleurs de l’arc-en-ciel; ce mirage nous formait à tous une couronne au milieu de laquelle nous voyions notre ombre.” This occurred at about 6:30 to 7 p.m., and the Italians in mention were at about the same height as ourselves⁠—namely, 14,000 feet. ↩
They had been travelling with, and had been engaged by, Lord F. Douglas, and so considered him their employer, and responsible to them. ↩
Transcribed from the original memorandum. ↩
Nor did I speak to them afterwards, unless it was absolutely necessary, so long as we were together. ↩
A portrait of Franz Andermatten is given in the engraving at the end of Chapter XII. ↩
To the point marked Z on the map. ↩
Marked with a cross on the map. ↩
A pair of gloves, a belt, and boot that had belonged to him were found. This, somehow, became publicly known, and gave rise to wild notions, which would not have been entertained had it been also known that the whole of the boots of those who had fallen were off, and were lying upon the snow near the bodies. ↩
The three ropes have been reduced by photography to the same scale. ↩
I was one hundred feet or more from the others whilst they were being tied up, and am unable to throw any light on the matter. Croz and old Peter no doubt tied up the others. ↩
This is not the only occasion upon which M. Clemenz (who presided over the inquiry) failed to give up answers that he promised. It is greatly to be regretted that he did not feel that the suppression of the truth was equally against the interests of travellers and of the guides. If the men were untrustworthy, the public should have been warned of the fact; but if they were blameless, why allow them to remain under unmerited suspicion?

Old Peter Taugwalder laboured for a long time under an unjust accusation. Notwithstanding repeated denials, even his comrades and neighbours at Zermatt persisted in asserting or insinuating that he cut the rope which led from him to Lord Francis Douglas. In regard to this infamous charge, I say that he could not do so at the moment of the slip, and that the end of the rope in my possession shows that he did not do so beforehand. There remains, however, the suspicious fact that the rope which broke was the thinnest and weakest one that we had. It is suspicious, because it is unlikely that any of the four men in front would have selected an old and weak rope when there was abundance of new, and much stronger, rope to spare; and, on the other hand, because if Taugwalder thought that an accident was likely to happen, it was to his interest to have the weaker rope where it was placed.

I should rejoice to learn that his answers to the questions which were put to him were satisfactory. Not only was his act at the critical moment wonderful as a feat of strength, but it was admirable in its performance at the right time. He left Zermatt, and lived for several years in retirement in the United States; but ultimately returned to his native valley, and died suddenly on July 11, 1888, at the Lac Noir (Schwarzsee). ↩
They followed the route laid down upon the map, and on their descent were in great peril from the fall of a serac. The character of the work they undertook may be gathered from a reference to Chapter VI. ↩
This, or a subsequent, party discovered a sleeve. No other traces have been found. ↩
At the instance of Mr. Alfred (now Mr. Justice) Wills, a subscription list was opened for the benefit of the sisters of Michel Croz, who had been partly dependent upon his earnings. In a short time more than £280 were raised. This was considered sufficient, and the list was closed. The proceeds were invested in French Rentes (by Mr. William Mathews), at the recommendation of M. Dupui, at that time Maire of Chamounix. ↩
See Chapter IV. ↩
See Chapter VII. ↩
Malte-Brun’s Annales des Voyages, April 1869. ↩
A place on the final peak, about halfway between the “shoulder+” and the summit. ↩
We resume here the account of the proceedings of the Italians who started from Breuil on the 11th of July 1865. See Chapter XX. ↩
The foregoing particulars were related to me by J.-A. Carrel. ↩
The following details are taken from the account of the Abbé Amé Gorret (published in the Feuille d’Aoste, Oct. 1865), who was at Breuil when the men returned. ↩
See Appendix D, attempt No. 1. ↩
These terms, as well as the others, Great Staircase, Col du Lion, Tête du Lion, Chimney, and so forth, were applied by Carrel and myself to the various points in consequence of real or supposed resemblances in the rocks to other things. A few of the terms originated with the author, but they are chiefly due to the inventive genius of J.-A. Carrel. ↩
This point is marked by the red letter E upon the lower of the two outlines in Chapter IV. ↩
I have seen icicles more than a hundred feet long hanging from the rocks near the summit of the Matterhorn. ↩
The words of the Abbé. I imagine that he meant comparatively easy. ↩
The pace of a party is ruled by that of its least efficient member. ↩
See Chapter V, and Chapter VI. ↩
A ridge descending towards the Z’Muttgletscher. ↩
By permission, from a photograph by Signor Sella. ↩
J.-Joseph and J.-Pierre Maquignaz alone ascended; the others had had enough and returned. It should be observed that ropes had I been fixed, by J.-A. Carrel and others, over all the difficult parts of the mountain as high as the shoulder, before the ascent of these persons. This explains the facility with which they moved over ground which had been found very trying in earlier times. The young woman declared that the ascent (as far as she went) was a trifle, or used words to that effect; if she had tried to get to the same height before 1862, she would probably have been of a different opinion. ↩
This is marked on the Map of the Matterhorn and its Glaciers (Cab. S.A.C.). A view of it was given in The Ascent of the Matterhorn. ↩
The position of the hut on the Hörnli ridge is marked by the word Cabane on the Map of the Matterhorn and its Glaciers. ↩
It has not been possible to carry this list on to a later date. Ascents have multiplied, and are often made by persons whose names are unknown.

The Geneva Telegraph of Sept. 24, 1892, stated that on the previous Sunday there were twenty-three tourists upon the summit, one of whom was a Royal Prince. ↩
Signor Giordano carried a mercurial barometer throughout the entire distance, and read it frequently. His observations have enabled me to determine the heights which were attained upon the different attempts to ascend the mountain, and the various points upon it which have been so frequently mentioned throughout this volume. He left a minimum thermometer upon the summit in 1868. This was recovered by J.-A. Carrel in July 1869, and was found to register only 9° Fahrenheit below the freezing-point. It was supposed that it was protected from the winter cold by a deep covering of snow. The explanation is scarcely satisfactory. ↩
The above extracts are taken from the Alpine Journal, vol. IX, pp. 374⁠–⁠77. I entirely concur in the following remarks, which were appended by the Editor. “On the facts of this account, but one judgment can be formed. In the face of the description given by Prof. Schiess of Brantschen’s condition during the night, his excuses are altogether inadequate. The adoption of a route by which the nearest succour was (at the pace of the party) 19½ instead of 8 hours off, may have been simply a deplorable error of judgment; but the determination to leave the sick man alone showed unpardonable want of heart. It must ever be a matter of profound regret that any travellers or guides should, without the least pressure of necessity, have left a sick man, without firewood in a hut 13,000 feet above the sea, to over thirty hours of certain and absolute solitude. There can be no doubt that the desertion of Brantschen under such circumstances was a flagrant breach of the first tradition of all honourable mountaineering⁠—the tradition, by virtue of which every member of a party, guide or mountaineer, has been accustomed in danger or distress to count on the support of his comrades.” ↩
Mr. Mummery’s description will be found in the Alpine Journal, vol. IX, pp. 458⁠–⁠62. ↩
See Alpine Journal, vol. IX, pp. 449⁠–⁠58. ↩
Alpine Journal, vol. IX, p. 366. ↩
The following paragraph is taken from the Alpine Journal, vol. XIII, pp. 399⁠–⁠400. On Aug. 3, 1887, Messrs. G. Lammer and A. Lorria “without guides, left the Stockje hut at 1:45 a.m. to attempt the ascent of the Matterhorn by Mr. Penhall’s route. They reached a point not very far from the top, but were compelled at 1 p.m. to turn back, owing to iced rocks. At 5:30 or 6 p.m. while traversing Penhall’s couloir, they were carried down by an avalanche. Herr Lorria received concussion of the brain, besides a fracture of the right leg above the ankle, had both feet frostbitten, and became unconscious. Herr Lammer, with a badly-sprained ankle, pulled his friend on to a rock, stripped off his own coat to cover him, and then went for aid. He found no one at the Stockje hut, so had to crawl down to the Staffel Alp, whence he despatched a message to Zermatt. A relief party came up and reached Herr Lorria about 7:30 a.m. on Aug. 4. He was still unconscious, and in his delirium had stripped off his clothes.” Further details of this mad adventure will be found in the Alpine Journal, vol. XIII, pp. 550⁠–⁠53. ↩
See the Alpine Journal, vol. XIII, pp. 95⁠–⁠110, and 166⁠–⁠71. ↩
The exact date of his birth does not seem to be known. He was christened at the Church of St. Antoine, Valtournanche, on January 17, 1829. ↩
Signor Peraldo, the innkeeper at Breuil, stated that a relief party was in readiness during the whole of August 25 (the day on which the descent was made), and was prevented from starting by the violence of the tempest. ↩
See Travels Amongst the Great Andes of the Equator, 1892. ↩
Signor Sinigaglia wrote in a letter to a friend, from which I am permitted to quote, “I don’t try to tell you of my intense pain for Carrel’s death. He fell after having saved me, and no guide could have done more than he did.” Charles Gorret, through his brother the Abbé, wrote to me that he entirely endorsed what had been said by Signor Sinigaglia, and added, “We would have given our own lives to have saved his.”

Jean-Antoine died at the foot of “the little staircase.” On the 26th of August his body was brought to Breuil, and upon the 29th it was interred at Valtournanche. At the beginning of July 1893 an iron cross was placed on the spot where he expired at the expense of Sig. Sinigaglia, who went in person along with Charles Gorret to superintend its erection. ↩
In 1893, the old hut on the east face was full of ice, and could not be used. ↩
It was reinstated by Franz Biener and his son. It is 420 feet higher than the cabane on the Hörnli ridge. ↩
Another was discovered in July 1887, by J. B. Maquignaz, J. B. Perruquet, and J. Aymonod, which goes diagonally up the precipice facing Breuil, and is more to the south and east than the other routes up the final peak. ↩
It is intended to adopt the Système Abt on the upper portion of the Trans-Andean railway, which is to connect Buenos Aires and Valparaiso. ↩
The running time, both up and down, is 2 hours 40 minutes. A considerable part of this, however, is consumed in stoppages at stations. In ascending the steep inclines the pace drops to four miles an hour and less. Great caution is used in descending; and, on the sections with the crémaillère, the trains seldom travel so fast as three miles an hour. ↩
Although one day only is named for this and for a subsequent ascent, I have reason to believe that two or more days have been occupied upon all ascents which have, as yet, been made. ↩
Cette roche granitoïde paraît surtout à la base ouest du pic sous le col du Lion tandis qu’elle ne paraît pas du tout sur le flanc est où elle paraît passer au gneiss talqueux. ↩
En plusieurs localités des environs, cette zone calcarifère présente des bancs et des lentilles de dolomie, de cargueule de gypse et de quartzites. ↩
See Map of the Valpelline, etc. ↩
The glacier referred: to above as the Valpelline Glacier is now called upon the Swiss Government Maps “Haut Glacier de Za-de-Zan.” ↩
Marked on the Map of Matterhorn and its Glaciers, camp (1866). ↩
The pit was made about midway between the Tête Blanche and the point now called Tête de Valpelline (3,813 metres). ↩
See the section at the end of the volume, drawn to a scale of one inch to a foot from actual measurement. ↩
Compared with the 11 inches of snow at the surface, that beneath seemed dirty. I hesitate, however, to term it dirty. We did not anywhere detect grit or sand. ↩
They were 750 feet (by aneroid) above the road, and were not far from the village of Sachas. There were a dozen of about the size of those shown in the engraving, and also numerous stumps of other minor ones. There may have been more, and more considerable ones, farther behind. I was pressed for time, and could not proceed beyond the point shown in the illustration. I have thought the above imperfect account of these pinnacles worth recording, as I believe they have not been described or observed before. ↩