The amount of luxury found in the Ltschthal since those days has materially improved. Time was when the only accommodation for the traveller was to be found at the humble tenement of Mons. le Cur, a worthy old creature as I remember him, who appeared to keep an apiary in his back drawing-room and was wont to produce the most excellent honey and the most uncompromising bread; the latter article, as one might judge, was baked about as often as the old gentleman washed himself. But the milk of human kindness flowed strongly in him (as it may be said to do in those who have been made the subjects of transfusion), though, to tell the truth, it was somewhat decidedly flavoured with garlic, and it needed much resolution to attentively listen to the confidential communications he was in the habit of whispering. A man of education and gentle refinementat any rate of mindhis was a hard lot, buried away in a squalid little parish, with no earthly being to talk to possessed of more than one idea; yet he slaved on contentedly enough with no thought beyond the peasants in his own district and of how he might relieve their condition, too often at the expense of his own welfare; isolated more than any ascetic, for his mental existence was that of a hermit, from circ.u.mstances and not from will. The thought of solitary confinement is terrible, but utter mental isolation is hideous. Yet, while he entertained us hospitably with fare which, though rough, was the very best he could offer, he would not join in the repast: not, probably, from lack of appet.i.te, but from a feeling that, owing to prolonged seclusion and a.s.sociation with the peasants, the more fashionable and accepted methods of preparing food for consumption and conveying it to the mouth, with subsequent details, were somewhat dim to his recollection. Yet his conversation flowed fast and he talked well: the while any reference to friends and fellow-travellers would cause him to pause for a moment or two, look upwards around the room, and fetch a rather long breath before he recommenced. A curiously gaunt old creature he seemed at first sight: with wonderful, bony, plastic hands capable of expressing anything; grotesque almost in his unkempt rustiness; provoking a smile at first, but sadness as one learnt more of him. And how closely are the two emotions a.s.sociated. In truth Humour was born a twin, and her sister was christened Pathos.

I can recall that he accepted a sum of ten francs when we parted in the morning. His eyes glistened with pleasure as he took the coin and straightway made for a ramshackle hovel on the hill-side, where lay an aged person trs-malade. Possibly after his visit there was left a happy peasant in that tumble-down cabinan emotional object more often described than witnessed. But all this took place years ago, and as we pa.s.sed the collection of dilapidated tenements in one of which our old friend once lived, I failed to recognise his former dwelling-place. The timbers grew old and worn, the bands rusty, and one day the wheel which had worked steadily for so long stopped. Yet the stream which had moved it ran on as if nothing had happened. Was it a wasted life? Who can say if there be such a thing?

A few can touch the magic string, And noisy Fame is proud to win them: Alas! for those that never sing, But die with all their music in them.

We pa.s.sed on: in a few minutes the houses were lost to view and there was left but the reflection of how much more, worthy of study, there was in this old curs nature than in the majority of Swiss with whom mountaineering brings us in close contact.

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As we descended the Ltschthal to Gampel the air seemed to thicken. The excessive warmth allowed our garments to stretch once again to their wonted girth, and we became less thoughtful. The vignette of the ancient cur dissolved away and was replaced by a view (mental only, unhappily) of our aiguille at Chamouni, black and bare of snow, inviting another attack.

Gampel does not tempt the traveller much to seek repose, and we therefore caught the first train that came crawling along the valley and shaped our course for Chamouni in a second-cla.s.s carriage tenanted by a _pension_ of young ladies out for a holiday apparently, who all chirped and twittered and wrangled for the best places till the going down of the sun, like the Temple sparrows.

CHAPTER V.

AN OLD FRIEND WITH A NEW FACE

Chamouni againThe hotel _clientle_A youthful heroThe inevitable English familyA scientific gentlemanA dream of the futureThe hereafter of the Alps and of Alpine literatureA condensed mountain ascentWanted, a programmeA double BrockenA hill-side phenomenon and a familiar characterA strong argumentHalting doubts and fearsA digression on mountaineering accidentsFrom gay to grave, from lively to severeThe storm breaksA battle with the elementsBeating the airThe ridge carried by a.s.saultWhat next, and next?A topographical problem and a cool proposalThe descent down the Valle BlancheThe old Montanvert hotelThe Montanvert path and its frequenters.

It was the summer of 18 and our old quarters at Couttets hotel knew us once more. As we drove into the village of Chamouni we turned our heads carelessly around to note the various new hotels that might have arisen since our last visit. Observing that they were four or five in number, we rightly conjectured that we should find all the hotel keepers complaining bitterly of the hard times and the want of custom. Also we wondered in how many ways it was possible to build a house without any particular system of drainage, a deficiency which was at that time becoming very marked in Chamouni, but has since, I believe, been improved. Yet the place itself had not altered essentially. New buildings of imposing exterior and little else do not materially alter a place that leads a life like that of modern Chamouni. The population, which throughout the summer appears to pa.s.s its time in the streets with its hands in its pockets, was still amusing itself in the same way. The tone of the village was just the same as we had always known it, and even M. Couttet himself had not succeeded in imparting any marine flavour by building an odd little lighthouse with an iron flag on the top which the architect had ingeniously represented as streaming permanently in a direction indicating a wind favourable for fine weather. We knew that we should find the same denizens in the hotel; and they were there.

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There was a very young man with a very parti-coloured face from exposure on the glaciers, who had recently completed the thousand-and-first ascent of Mont Blanc and was perpetually posing gracefully against the door-post or in a lattice-work summer-house a few steps from the hotel, gazing towards the mountain and rather eagerly joining in any conversation relating to the perils of the ascent. There were three or four young ladies of various periods of life who gazed at him with admiration and enquired at intervals if he wasnt very tired; to which the young man replied carelessly that he was not, and inwardly thought that the discomfort of sunburn and the consequent desquamation was on the whole cheaply bought, the while he wished the expedition had not cost so much and that so many others had not thought of making the same ascent. And then there came a lithe, active lady walker who had been up Mont Blanc and a great many other mountains too, and paid no more attention to the guides stereotyped compliments than a suspicious dog does to those of a nervous visitor: so the young mans nose was put out of joint and he would have laughed scornfully at the fickleness of hero worship had not the skin of his face been in danger of cracking, and he wished his shirt collar had not been starched and thumped by the village washerwoman into the form of a circular linen saw.

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Then there was an excitable Englishman of impulsive habits, with a large family who were perpetually playing a game of follow-my-leader with their parent, and who were under orders to weigh anchor on the following morning at five oclock for the Montanvert and the Mauvais Pas. The boys were stoking up for the occasion with raw apples, and the girls were occupied, when not pursuing their restless father, in preparing a puggaree for his hat. There was a gentleman who affected the curious untidiness of raiment not unfrequently noticed among Sunday frequenters of the Thames, and who sought to establish a mountaineering reputation by constantly gazing at the peaks around in a knowing manner and wearing a flannel shirt of an obtrusive pattern dest.i.tute of any collar. There were guides about, who were on the point of being paid for their services and who were exceedingly polite and obsequious; others whose tour had just pa.s.sed, were, proportionately, less deferential. There was an elderly lady whose whole soul appeared bent on a little stocking from which she never parted, and who turned the knitting needles to more account for toilet and other small purposes than I could have conceived to be possible. There were two or three mountaineers who appeared anxious only to avoid everyones gaze and who might be seen in byways and odd corners talking to bronzed guides who looked like business. Finally, there was a gentleman of statistical and scientific tendencies, much given to making quietly astonishing statements of astronomical facts and gently smiling as he rolled over his tongue and enjoyed the flavour of the vast numbers with which it was his pleasure to deal. He absolutely revelled and wallowed in figures.

b.u.t.tonholed in a corner and compelled to listen with deferential attention, I secretly writhed as he crushed me slowly with the mere weight of his numerals. He shared with others of his frame of mind the peculiarity of always keeping something in hand and skilfully working up to a climax. Such and such a star was so many millions of miles off. We opened our eyes to the proper degree of width and observed, Bless me!

or, You dont say so? Instantly he would rejoin, Ah, but thats nothing to so and so, and then favoured us with a still more immeasurable distance. We expressed a slightly greater degree of intelligent amazement.

Thereupon he nodded his head, gently inclined it a little to one side, and smiled softly. It gave him such evident pleasure to have a listener that I attended with due reverence to his enthusiastic computations; knowing my man, I felt sure that he was keeping back a real staggerer to finish up with, and was prepared to a.s.sume varying degrees of surprise up to the moment when it should come. Unfortunately I misjudged its advent, and feeling that I had somewhat lost in his estimation by evincing undue astonishment at a comparatively small array of figures, I sought to turn the conversation by requesting to know how long he thought it might be before the great rock peaks around us would have crumbled away to their bases. The calculation was too trivial and the number of millions of generations too small to interest him much, but he vouchsafed an approximate estimate.

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I let him babble on and fell a-thinking. The peaks were crumbling away bit by bit no doubt, the glaciers shrinking. At a bound the mind leapt into a future which, after all, might be not so very unlike a past. The Alps things of the past! What, I wondered, when the mountains were all levelled down and smiling valleys occupied the troughs of the glaciers of to-day, would some future commentators make of the literature so industriously piled up by the members and followers of the Alpine Club? Imagination ran riot as in a dream, and I fancied some enthusiast exploring the buried city of the second Babylon and excavating the ruins of the finest site in Europe. I pictured to myself the surprise in store for him on digging out the effigies of some of our naval and military heroes, and the mingled feelings with which he would contemplate the unearthed statue of George IV. It seemed possible that in that far-off epoch to which my friends calculations had borne me, the Alpine Club itself might have ceased to exist. Pursuing his explorations in an easterly direction, the excavator might perchance have lighted on a strange tunnel, almost Arcadian in its simplicity of design, and marvelled at the curious and cheap idols of wax and wood which the people of that ancient day had evidently worshipped.

Turning north again, this Schliemann of the future would pa.s.s by the ruins of S. Martins Church, eager to light upon the precious archives of the historic Alpine Club itself. How eagerly he would peruse the lore contained in the Club library, anxious to decipher the inscriptions and discover what manner of men they were who lived and climbed when mountains and glaciers were still to be found on this planet. Human nature would probably not have changed much, and the successful explorer might even have been asked to favour a scientific society of the future with the result of his discoveries, to which in all probability he would have acceded, with a degree of reluctance not quite sufficient to deter the secretary of the society from pressing him.

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An abstract of his description of our sibylline leaves I fancied might run somewhat in this style:After commenting on the fact that the maps and ill.u.s.trations did not usually correspond in number with the list set forth in the index of the volumes unearthed, he might proceed thus:In pursuit of their great and glorious object these ancient heroes appear to have undergone vast personal discomfort. It is difficult therefore to realise fully why so many engaged in this form of exploration. Instances have been given by other learned antiquarians who have studied the habits of this people, of a similar purposeless disregard of comfort, such as the four-wheeled wooden boxes in which they travelled about, the seats in their churches, &c. The outset of their expedition was almost invariably characterised by a display of bad temper, attributed to early rising.

After a varying number of hours of excessive toil the travellers were wont to arrive at some fearsome chasm spoken of as a bergschrund. On this, if the subject-matter of their narrative was insufficient in quant.i.ty, they were wont to descant and enlarge at length; sometimes, as we judge, in their descriptions they enlarged the bergschrund itself. They then crossed it. Immediately after this incident they were in the habit of eating, and the minute and instructive details commonly given enable us to form a tolerably accurate opinion as to the nature of the diet with which they supported their exhausted frames. Next they traversed strange localities for which there appear to have been no adequately descriptive expressions in their own language. In fact the difficulty of deciphering these records is greatly increased by the fact that the writers were versatile linguists, for they constantly make use of words of a hybrid character.

They were evidently practised meteorologists and took much interest in this subject, as may be gathered throughout from their writings. At length they reached summits, of the nature of which we in our time can have but a feeble conception. So great was their relief at the termination of their self-imposed but toilsome task, that they habitually burst forth into language characterised by a wealth of imagery and a fervour of poetic description which unfortunately conveys but little idea to us in our day of what they actually saw. In descending they were all commonly within an ace of meeting with a violent death. The mode in which the danger attacked them varied within certain restricted limits, but it always occurred and the escape was always narrow. The peril over, they remarked that they breathed freely again, and then at once fell to eating. Arrived at a successful termination of their wearisome labour, they advised others to do the same. They dealt out unsparing satire to their companions, unlimited praise to their guides, and unmeasured ridicule to their porter.

They commonly expressed throughout their descriptions grave doubts and uncertainty as to the issue of the expedition: a curious and noteworthy fact, for the heading of the accounts always divulged at the outset their ultimate success. The construction, therefore, of their narratives was in accordance with a well-recognised model and appeared capable of little variation. The only other facts that we can glean are that they were prodigious eaters, were much pestered by some extinct species of insects, and that they make frequent allusions to a substance termed tobacco. The constant repet.i.tion of these incidents stamps upon their writings the impress of unexaggerated veracity. Still they were not universally held in favour, indeed were regarded with disapprobation by some individuals of their own race. It would seem indeed from internal evidence that, had it not been for frequent and sharp criticism of their proceedings, their pastime might never have inveigled so many persons with its seductive fascination.

Now at the time at which these prophetic fancies were conjured up we had just completed an expedition which it seemed might be worthy of attention, solely on the ground of its very contradictoriness. For the features of this climb were most opposed to those already mentioned, and in fact mention of it scarcely seemed admissible in an Alpine narrative. We took no porter with us to fill the rle of first low comedy man. We had very little to eat; our stock of wine ran out through a leaky gourd; our tobacco was wet and there was no bergschrund, and yet all this happened on a mountain close to Chamouni.

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Some vast amount of years ago, ere all my youth had vanished from me, as the poet says, at a date therefore which for obvious reasons it is inexpedient here to mention, I found myself, as already mentioned, at Chamouni. With me was an old mountain friend and fellow climber, J. Oakley Maund. We were both burning with desire to add to the list of the many successful expeditions we had made together, but, as a matter of fact, were somewhat gravelled for lack of suitable matter. Like a ministry on the eve of a general election or a gentleman without a sixpenny-piece at a theatre, we were sorely in need of a programme. The locality was somewhat unfortunately chosen for those in whom the ancient spirit was not yet quite extinct and who wanted to do something new. Ever since the days when Jacques Balmat, Dr. Paccard, and the great De Saussure had donned strange apparel and shown the waythat is to say, for nearly a hundred yearspeople had been climbing mountains in the district, and it was not to be wondered at if it were hard to find some expedition which n.o.body else had thought of, or, worse still, had achieved. We gazed at the map and made thumb marks all over it. In every conceivable direction ran little lines indicative of previous explorations. We studied the _carte en relief_, but without much hope of getting any information of value from this inaccurate and lumpy absurdity. Mont Blanc, which, according to this work of plastic art, was modelled out as some eight or ten thousand feet higher than any other point of the chain, had had all the snow worn off its summit by much fingering, so that the component pasteboard showed through. Rivers ran uphill in this map, and lakes were inclined at an angle; bits of sticking plaister represented towns and villages, and the whole article was absolutely bristling with little spikes and points like the old panoramas of London or the docks at Liverpool. Still a considerable number of people seemed willing enough to pay fifty centimes for the pleasure of indicating elaborate expeditions on it with their fore-fingers, and appeared to derive pleasure from gazing on a pasteboard misrepresentation when they could by looking out of window see the real thing for nothing. We abandoned the _carte en relief_ and took Jaun and Kaspar Maurer into our confidence. The only suggestions that they could make were the Aiguille des Charmoz and the Dent du Gant. The former of these two peaks we had both tried to ascend in former seasons, without success. Jaun did not think then that it was possible, and without sharing his opinion we gave way to it. With regard to the latter mountain we all thought at the time that an undue amount of what is vaguely termed artificial aid would be necessary to ensure success, an opinion confirmed by subsequent events, for when Signor Sella achieved the honour of the first ascent he was only able to accomplish it by somewhat elaborate engineering appliances. Some bold person of an original turn of thought suggested of course a variation of some way up Mont Blanc, but the utter impossibility of discovering the slightest deviation from any previously ascended route and the utter uselessness of trying to find one caused a general shout of derision, and the bold person thereupon withdrew his suggestion and ordered some coffee. Besides, the weather was fine; every day swarms of tourists could be seen, crawling up the sides of the monarch of mountains, in numbers as many as the flies on a sugar loaf in a grocers window on a hot day.

One evening we sat in front of Couttets hotel staring pensively at the familiar outline of the row of aiguilles, and wishing we had lived in the days of Albert Smith, the best friend Chamouni ever had. At any rate, at that time the natives were unsophisticated and the mountains about were not all done to death. The valley between us and the chain was filled with a light haze, not sufficient to conceal the outline of the mountains but yet enough to blot out their detail and solidity. As the moon rose behind the chain we saw a strange phenomenon. A silhouette was thrown forwards on to the curtain of haze and photographed on it with sharp and clear definition, so that we could recognise, at an immense height, the shadowed peaks looking almost as ma.s.sive as the actual mountains. Nor was this all; a second curtain of mist seemed to be suspended, in a vertical stratum, in front of the former one, and the shadows were again marked out on this, infinitely more magnified and less distinct, but still perfectly recognisable. As a result we were able to see the semblance of three distinct tiers of mountains one above the other, looking so ma.s.sive that we could scarcely realise that they were but transparent ghosts of the peaks; and the phenomenon, a double Brocken, must have lasted for more than half an hour. However, we desired something more of the nature of the substance than the shadow, and ultimately came to the conclusion that it was absolutely necessary for our peace of mind to accomplish something on the morrow, and as it really mattered but little what that something might be, provided a good climb was afforded, we must yield to circ.u.mstances and perforce adopt the latter-day necessity of all mountaineers. If we could not find the right way up some new mountain we could at least take the wrong way up an old one.

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So the next morning we walked up to the Pierre Pointue as a preliminary stepa good many and rather arduous stepstowards the object in view. The exertion of toiling up the zigzags or the more rarefied atmosphere had a remarkable effect on one of the party, whose face when we reached the chalet was found to be wreathed in smiles and wearing an expression of great intelligence. He had in fact become possessed of an idea. Bubbling over with self-satisfied chuckles, he suggested that we should ascend the Aiguille du Midi by the face directly in front of us and then descend on the other side, thus making a col of the mountain. The idea found favour instantly, and the intelligent person was so much pleased that he ordered a bottle of wine, plastered over with a very costly variety of label, and regretted it. Investigation of the cellar revealed only two casks of wine, but the carte comprised a long list of various vintages. Fired with enthusiasm and inflated with _limonade gazeuse_, we left the chalet and strode vigorously up the hill in order to prospect the route and reconnoitre the rocks. The exertion and the pace soon told upon us, the sooner that it was a hot, enervating day; the kind of day that makes one perforce admire the ingenious benevolence of nature in fashioning out on the gra.s.sy slopes rounded inequalities, exactly adapted to those of the human figure in a seated or rec.u.mbent position. The heated air rising from the ground gave flickering and distorted views of distant objects, like unto marine phenomena viewed through the cheap panes of a seaside lodging-house window. The gra.s.shoppers were extraordinarily busy; the bees droned through the heavy air; the ants, overcome apparently by the temperature, had given up for the time straining their jaws by their foolish practice of carrying large parcels about without any definite object, and had retired to the shady seclusion of their own heaped-up residences; the turf was most inviting. It now occurred to us that there was no absolute necessity for the whole party to ascend on the present occasion, and that perhaps the guides might go up quicker alone. The details of this suggestion were acceded to on the part of the amateurs of the party with astonishing alacrity and unanimity. We laid the scheme before the guides, and they also thought it a very fine one. Thereupon, with much parade and ceremony, they braced themselves up for great exertion, borrowed the telescope, remarked that they expected to be back some time during the night, and started upwards with somewhat over-acted eagerness. My companion and I disposed ourselves comfortably in the shade, and resumed an argument which had originally commenced some days previously. I waxed eloquent on the subject under discussion and with much success, for such was the force of my logic and the cogency of my reasoning that I bore down on my opponent, and reduced him in a short time to absolute silence, from which he did not awake for nearly two hours.

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About this time the guides, who in all probability had also been comfortably asleep within a short distance of us, returned and gave a favourable report concerning the mountain. Elated by this news, we climbed a short distance further up, and met there a large party of ephemeral acquaintances who were taking an afternoons pleasure on the hills. After the manner of people when so engaged, they set forth with great energy and climbed up a steep little rock tump a few hundred yards distant. Arrived at the summit, they roared out unintelligible remarks to us, and we did the same to them till we were hoa.r.s.e; we waved our hands and hats and they flourished their handkerchiefs as if they were our dearest friends on earth, just setting out on an emigrant ship for the Antipodes. The party then descended; the nearer they came the less friendly and demonstrative were we, and by the time we met the warmth of affection recently manifested on both sides had wholly evaporated, and we conversed in ordinary tones on indifferent topics. Then they set out for another little hill, and we were moved, apparently by some uncontrollable impulse, to go through the same idiotic performance. Emotional behaviour of a similar kind is not infrequently observed in the mountains. We journeyed together back to the Pierre Pointue, viewing each other with distrust and suspicion; and when it was found that we had bespoken the bedsif the exaggerated packing-cases lined with straw bags could be considered suchwe parted on terms the reverse of friendly. So frail are the links that bind human affections.

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Standing in front of the hut was a type of character very familiar in these tourist-frequented districts. His exterior was unpromising; his beard of a fortnights growth, or thereabouts, somewhat fitful withal and lacking in uniformity of development. A hard hat, with a shining green veil folded around its battered outline, decorated his head; his raiment was black and rusty, his legs cased in canvas gaiters fastened with many little girths and buckles, and in his right hand he grasped a trusty three-franc pole made of wainy deal, and surmounted at the top by a brown k.n.o.b similar to those which come out suddenly when we try to open a chest of drawers in a cheap lodging. He fidgeted about for a while, asked questions in a rather loud tone of voice at us, and we felt that it was his intention to enter into conversation. It was even so. After a while he sidled up and requested with much diffidence to be informed what we proposed to climb on the morrow. Now the true mountaineer, however amiable his disposition, always shrinks up into his sh.e.l.l when such a question is put to him on the eve of an expedition. My companion indicated by a sweep of the arm a s.p.a.ce of territory extending about from the Mont Buet on the one side round to the Aiguille de Gout on the other. Our friend surveyed from end to end the extensive panorama suggested, then looked seriously at us and observed that we should probably find it a fine walk. We expressed gravely the opinion that he was quite right, and then went in to dinner, while our composite friend expatiated on the project to his companions as an expedition but little out of the ordinary run, and one that he was perfectly prepared to undertake himself if so disposed; then he resumed his contemplation of a rock some ninety feet or so in height jutting out through the glacier above, which he was under the impression was a lady descending from Mont Blanc. We did not learn his name, but the individual may, nevertheless, possibly be recognised. Some points of the argument were still unsettled when we climbed over the edges of our respective boxes and vanished into the strawy depths below. The clear moonlight streamed in through the window and prevented sleep; so I lay in my wooden box thinking over the recent discussion, but with such a distinct intentionlike little Paul Dombey with Mrs. Pipchinof fixing my companion presently, that even that hardy old mountaineer deemed it prudent to counterfeit slumber.

In the small hours of the morning we got under weigh. For some time we had been leading a life of sloth in Chamouni, and the delight of finding ourselves once more on the mountain path, and making for a rock climb, entirely precluded that fractiousness which, as all readers of Alpine literature know, ought properly to be described at this period of an expedition. The path was irregular and demanded some equanimity, for the stumbling-blocks were innumerable and artfully placed to trip up the unwary in an aggravating manner. Feeling it unfair that all the work should be thrown on the guides, I had volunteered, rather magnanimously, to bear part of the burden, and selected the lantern as my share. By this means it was not only possible to walk in comfort over a well-lighted track, but the bearer was enabled also to regulate the pace to a speed convenient to his own feelings. Before long, however, we reached the lower snow patches of the Glacier des Plrins, and the light was no longer necessary.

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We made straight across the crisp snow to the base of a promising-looking rock b.u.t.tress lying to the right of the snow gully that runs up the side of the mountain, feeling sure that either by the rocks or the snow a way up could be found. And now I am painfully conscious of a glaring defect in this Alpine narrative. A mountain ascent without a bergschrund is as tame as a steeplechase without a water jump, but candour compels the admission that no bergschrund was visible. Either we had hit on a spot where the orthodox chasm was filled up for the time, or else this particular glacier was an exception to all others previously treated of in mountain literature. In a few seconds we found ourselves on the rocks, delighted to exchange the monotonous mode of progression compulsory on snow for the varied gymnastic exercises demanded on rocks. The sun had risen, the axes clanked merrily against the stones, the snow was in good condition for walking, everything seemed favourable, and we gazed down complacently on the distance already traversed. Above us the mountain was broken up and easy, and we climbed on rapidly, each in the fashion that seemed best to him. So good was our progress at first, that we were already far up the b.u.t.tress, and could barely see our mornings tracks in the snow beneath, when a halt was called for breakfast, and we had time to look around. Now, however unconventional this expedition may have been in many respects, the sagacious student of Alpine literature will know that it must be wholly impossible to omit all reference to the weather. As soon might one expect two prosaic persons of slight acquaintanceship to abjure the topic at a chance meeting. The western sky wore a rather ominous look of half mourning, and heavy grey and black clouds were whirling about and forming up in close order in a manner suggestive of rising wind. Even at this stage of the proceedings the thought crossed our minds that the storm which was evidently brewing might possibly overtake us, and that perhaps we ought at once to turn back.

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One thing was evident; that we must decide quickly, whatever we did. We determined to push on for a while, and with that intent girded ourselves with the rope and worked our way on to the top of the first b.u.t.tress. At this point, further progress directly upwards was impossible, and we were compelled to cross the gully and make for the rock on the left-hand side.

Considerable care is always necessary in crossing, horizontally, a gully filled with snow, where the rope is rather a source of danger than of security. We had to give all our attention to the pa.s.sage, and when we reached the rocks opposite, the climbing, though not formidable, was still sufficiently difficult to occupy all our thoughts for the moment, and we had but little leisure, and perhaps but little inclination, for meteorological observations. At the top of the rocks a promising snow slope, stretching upwards with gentle curves and sweeps, seemed to offer a fair prospect of rapid progress. Such snow slopes are at all times a little deceptive. Even when the climber is close to them they look oftentimes much easier than they immediately after prove to be. From a distance, say from under the verandah of a comfortable hotel, when the climber _in posse_ indicates the way he would pursue with the end of his cigar, they are absurdly easy. So, too, are obstacles in the hunting-field, such as stiff hedges and uncompromising gates, easy enough when the Nimrod studies them as he whirls along in an express train.

Subsequently, when immediately a.s.sociated with a horse, these same obstacles a.s.sume a different guise. Then are the sentiments of the hunter p.r.o.ne to become modified, and compa.s.sion for dumb beasts becomes more prominent in the thoughtful votary of the chase, till finally it may be observed that the little wits jump sometimes more than the great ones.

Even so does the mountaineer often discover, on a nearer acquaintance that the snow incline up which he proposed to stride merrily is inclined at a highly inconvenient angle. However, at the commencement of our slope we found the snow in good condition, and advanced quickly for some little distance, but before we had got very far it was necessary to resort to the axe, and we had then ample opportunities of looking round. The clouds were lowering more and more, but as they were swept up by a souwesterly wind, the intervening ma.s.s of the mountain prevented us from seeing thoroughly what might be in store for us. The wind, too, was growing stronger every minute, and my companion, who was still pursuing his argument, and, as it appeared subsequently, making some rather good points, had to exert himself considerably in order to make his voice heard.

Presently we halted for a few minutes on some spiky little rocks, and again looked about. The weather prospects were just in that doubtful state that prompts every member of the party to ask the others what they think.

Maurer looked exceedingly vacant and made no remark. Jaun put a bit of snow in his mouth, but declined to give an opinion. We, not to be outdone, a.s.sumed very profound expressions, as if prepared to find ourselves in the right whatever happened, but, following the example of Lord Burleigh in the famous tragedy, we said nothing either. At last, some one suggested that we might go on for a little, and then see. Accordingly we went on for a little, but then as a matter of fact the mists swept up around us and we did not see anything at all. It was, no doubt, inconvenient that we were unable to penetrate with our gaze to the regions above, but still we felt that there was one slight counterbalancing advantage, for there was present the haunting consciousness that the gigantic telescope of Chamouni was pointed in our direction, and at least the enveloping mist ensured that privacy which is not always accorded to climbers pursuing their pastime within range of these instruments of science.

(M72)

In the hope that the condition of the upper snow might be good, and perhaps rather mistaken in the height we had already reached, we made up our minds to push on, with the view of reaching at any rate the top of the ridge before the storm broke. Every now and again a rent in the clouds above, lasting for a few seconds, showed us that the wind was blowing with great force, as thin clouds of loose snow were swept up and whirled along the face in curling wreaths. The spectacle might not, at first sight, have been thought highly diverting: yet as we pointed upwards to the ridge and watched the racing snow-drifts driving over the slopes we were making for, we all laughed very heartily. So universal is the tendency to be amused at the sight of discomfort that it even extends to the contemplation of its occurring shortly to oneself. In the paulo-post-future the experience is exhilarating: in the actual present it is less laughter-moving. Laughter in the presence of events that are, in the true sense of the word, sensational, comes almost as a reflex action (to borrow an expression from the physiologists), and the sympathetic distress that follows takes an appreciable time to develop. I can recall once being a witness with some others of a ghastly accident by which several people were precipitated, together with a ma.s.s of broken timbers and dbris of all sorts, from a great height. A door was burst open and the ruin met our eyes suddenly. To this day I can remember sounds of laughter at the first viewhysterical if you like to call it so, and not mirthful, but still laughter. In a few seconds the realisation of what had happened came, and then came the distress and with it expressions of horror, as all worked manfully to help and rescue the sufferers. The sequence of emotions was perfectly natural, and only they who have never pa.s.sed through such an experience would speak of inhumanity. There is no want of humanity in the matter. The suddenness of the impression begets the train of emotions, and the brain grasps the facts but slowly. To take another instance: I have been told by a man whose quickness and presence of mind were remarkablea man who as a schoolboy won a Royal Humane Societys medalthat on one occasion he witnessed a friend fall over a staircase from a great height. The accident was in the highest degree unexpected: and the witness walked leisurely on as if nothing had happened. But in a few seconds came like a severe blow the sudden realisation of what had taken place. Thought is not always quick. We can no more exert our minds to their fullest capacity on a sudden than we can put forth our utmost physical strength on a sudden.

Action when almost instantaneous is independent of the higher mental faculties, and is but a reflex. The experience of those who have been in railway accidents will be of the same nature. In climbing up a very steep or difficult place if a man falls all are prepared more or less for such an accident. The whole attention is given to guarding against a probable contingency, and it follows that the mind can instantly realise its occurrence. And that such is the case I have been unlucky enough to witness, though most fortunately the fall was attended with no serious consequences. On the same principle, to take a more trivial example, on difficult rocks it is the rarest possible accident for a man to sprain his ankle or knee. The muscles are always prepared for a possible slip and kept in tension on the alert. On the loose moraine, when walking leisurely or carelessly, such an accident is a thousand times more likely to occur.

(M73)

Our leader worked away with a will, but the snow got harder at every step.

The growing force of the wind, which in nautical language had increased from that vague degree known as a capful to the indefinite force of a stiff breeze, and the increasing steepness of the slope, compelled Jaun to make the steps larger and larger as we ascended. It soon became evident that the storm would overtake us long before we could hope to get on to the ridge, and that we had deliberately walked into something of a trap.

The steps had been cut so far apart that to descend by the same line would have involved the construction of a fresh staircase, and on actually turning, we found that what was a stiff breeze behind us was a half gale when it met our faces. It was certainly easier to go on than to go back; so we went further and fared much worse. The slope became steeper, the ice harder, the half gale became a whole gale, and the delay between each step seemed interminable. Suddenly, as we pa.s.sed from under the lee of a projecting slope on our right, a tremendous gust of wind, which seemed to have waited for a few moments in order to collect its full forces, swept suddenly down and almost tore us from our foothold. With that a torrent of hail fell, and for a few moments we had enough to do to hold on where we stood. Even my companions conversation slackened. He had astutely selected a place in the caravan immediately behind me, and as the gale was blowing directly on our backs was enabled to fire off his remarks and arguments without any possibility of response. Anything that I said in answer was audible only to our leader, who took not the smallest interest in the discussion. Unfortunately, too, it was difficult to listen with any attention; for as the gusts came on we were forced to swing all our faces round like chimney cowls instantly in the same direction. The squalls became more frequent and more violent, the thunder and lightning played around merrily, and as the wind howled by we had to throw ourselves flat against the slope, adopting the undignified att.i.tudes of a deer-stalker nearing the brow of a Scotch hillatt.i.tudes which bring somewhat unduly into prominence the inadequate nature of the national costume.

Fortunately, as has been said, we were screened from view; and our poses, though possibly ungraceful, were at any rate uncriticised. The big hailstones, falling softly around, filled up the steps as they were made, and our feet were buried up to the ankles in a moment. In a minute or two the hurricane pa.s.sed for the time; then we arose, shook ourselves, smiled at nothing in particular, and the leader would find time during the comparative lull to hack out three or four fresh steps. Certain sounds, not accounted for by the elements, coming up from below, may have been suggestions or may have been arguments, but they were knocked out of all intelligible shape before they reached the head of the caravan. Not even the porter at Lloyds or the captain of a merchantman could have made himself audible in that cyclone. Upwards we went, fighting for each step and for each yard gained as hard as if we were storming a fortress. Even while the leader had his axe in the air ready to deliver a fresh blow a distant roar would betoken another onslaught, and we instantly fell flat down like tin soldiers struck with the well-directed pea, and disposed ourselves at a convenient angle of resistance; and so we went on, when we did go on at all. If the relation is wearisome it is also realistic, for we found that the actual experience was far from being lively; but all things must have an end, including even the _feuilleton_ in a Parisian newspaper or the walk up to the Bel Alp on a hot day, and the termination came almost unexpectedly.

(M74)