Guided by the sound of a distant "moo," we speedily found the highest chalets in the valley, named Rieu Blanc. They were tenanted by three old women (who seemed to belong to one of the missing links sought by naturalists) dest.i.tute of all ideas except in regard to cows, and who spoke a barbarous patois wellnigh unintelligible to the Savoyard Croz.

They would not believe that we had pa.s.sed between the Aiguilles: "It is impossible, the _cows_ never go there." "Could we get to La Grave over yonder ridge?" "Oh yes! the _cows_ often crossed!" Could they show us the way? No, but we could follow the cow-tracks.

We stayed a while near these chalets to examine the western sides of the Aiguilles d'Arve, and, according to our united opinion, the central one was as inaccessible from this direction as from the east, north or south.

On the following day we saw them again, from a height of about eleven thousand feet, in a south-easterly direction, and our opinion remained unchanged.

We saw (on June 20-22) the central Aiguille from all sides, and very nearly completely round the southernmost one. The northern one we also saw on all sides excepting from the north. (It is, however, precisely from this direction M. Joanne says that its ascent is relatively easy.) We do not, therefore, venture to express any opinion respecting its ascent, except as regards its actual summit. This is formed of two curious p.r.o.ngs or pinnacles of rock, and we do not understand in what way they (or either of them) can be ascended; nor shall we be surprised if this ascent is discovered to have been made in spirit rather than body-in fact, in the same manner as the celebrated ascent of Mont Blanc, "not entirely to the summit, but as far as the Montanvert!"

All three of the Aiguilles _may_ be accessible, but they look as inaccessible as anything I have seen. They are the highest summits between the valleys of the Romanche and the Arc: they are placed slightly to the north of the watershed between those two valleys, and a line drawn through them runs pretty nearly north and south.

We descended by a rough path from Rieu Blanc to the chalets of La Sausse, which give the name to the Vallon or Ravine de la Sausse in which they are situated. This is one of the numerous branches of the valley that leads to St. Jean d'Arve, and subsequently to St. Jean de Maurienne.

Two pa.s.ses, more or less known, lead from this valley to the village of La Grave (on the Lautaret road) in the valley of the Romanche-viz., the Col de l'Infernet and the Col de Martignare. The former pa.s.s was crossed just thirty years ago by J. D. Forbes, and was mentioned by him in his _Norway and its Glaciers._ The latter one lies to the north of the former, and is seldom traversed by tourists, but it was convenient for us, and we set out to cross it on the morning of the 22d, after having pa.s.sed a comfortable but not luxurious night in the hay at La Sausse, where, however, the simplicity of the accommodation was more than counterbalanced by the civility and hospitality of the people in charge.(16)

We left the chalets at 4.15 A.M. under a shower of good wishes from our hostesses, proceeded at first toward the upper end of the ravine, then doubled back up a long b.u.t.tress which projects in an unusual way, and went toward the Col de Martignare; but before arriving at its summit we again doubled and resumed the original course. At 6 A. M. we stood on the watershed, and followed it toward the east, keeping for some distance strictly to the ridge, and afterward diverging a little to the south to avoid a considerable secondary aiguille, which prevented a straight track being made to the summit at which we were aiming. At 9.15 we stood on its top, and saw at once the lay of the land.

We were very fortunate in the selection of our summit. Not to speak of other things, it gave a grand view of the ridge which culminates in the peak called La Meije (13,080 feet), which used to be mentioned by travelers under the name Aiguille du Midi de la Grave. It is the last, the only, great Alpine peak which has never known the foot of man, and one cannot speak in exaggerated terms of its jagged ridges, torrential glaciers and tremendous precipices. But were I to discourse upon these things without the aid of pictures, or to endeavor to convey in words a sense of the loveliness of curves, of the beauty of color or of the harmonies of sound, I should try to accomplish that which is impossible, and at the best should succeed in but giving an impression that the things spoken of may have been pleasant to hear or to behold, although they are perfectly incomprehensible to read about. Let me therefore avoid these things, not because I have no love for or thought of them, but because they cannot be translated into language; and presently, when topographical details must of necessity be returned to again, I will endeavor to relieve the poverty of the pen by a free use of the pencil.

Whilst we sat upon the Aiguille de la Sausse our attention was concentrated on a point that was immediately opposite-on a gap or cleft between the Meije and the mountain called the Rateau. It was, indeed, in order to have a good view of this place that we made the ascent of the Aiguille. It (that is, the gap itself) looked, as my companions remarked, obtrusively and offensively a pa.s.s. It had not been crossed, but it ought to have been; and this seemed to have been recognized by the natives, who called it, very appropriately, the Breche de la Meije. It led to La Berarde, a miserable village, without interest, without commerce, and almost without population. Why, then, did we wish to cross it? Because we were bound to the Pointe des ecrins, to which La Berarde was the nearest inhabited place.

When we sat upon the Aiguille de la Sausse we were rather despondent about our prospects of crossing the Breche, which seemed to present a combination of all that was formidable. There was evidently but one way by which it could be approached. We saw that at the top of the pa.s.s there was a steep wall of snow or ice (so steep that it was most likely ice), protected at its base by a big schrund or moat, which severed it from the snow-fields below. Then (tracking our course downward) we saw undulating snow-fields leading down to a great glacier. The snow-fields would be easy work, but the glacier was riven and broken in every direction, huge creva.s.ses seemed to extend entirely across it in some places, and everywhere it had that strange twisted look which tells of the unequal motion of the ice. Where could we get on to it? At its base it came to a violent end, being cut short by a cliff, over which it poured periodical avalanches, as we saw by a great triangular bed of debris below. We could not venture there-the glacier must be taken in flank. But on which side? Not on the west-no one could climb those cliffs. It must, if anywhere, be by the rocks on the east, and _they_ looked as if they were _roches moutonnees._

So we hurried down to La Grave, to hear what Melchior Anderegg (who had just pa.s.sed through the village with the family of our friend Walker) had to say on the matter. Who is Melchior Anderegg? Those who ask the question cannot have been in Alpine Switzerland, where the name of Melchior is as well known as the name of Napoleon. Melchior, too, is an emperor in his way-a very prince among guides. His empire is amongst the "eternal snows"-his sceptre is an ice-axe.

Melchior Anderegg-more familiarly and perhaps more generally known simply as Melchior-was born at Zaun, near Meiringen, on April 6, 1828. He was first brought into public notice in Hinchcliff's _Summer Months in the Alps,_ and was known to very few persons at the time that little work was published. In 1855 he was "Boots" at the Grimsel hotel, and in those days when he went out on expeditions it was for the benefit of his master, the proprietor: Melchior himself only got the _trinkgelt._ In 1856 he migrated to the Schwarenbach inn on the Gemmi, where he employed his time in carving objects for sale. In 1858 he made numerous expeditions with Messrs. Hinchcliff and Stephen, and proved to his employers that he possessed first-rate skill, indomitable courage and an admirable character. His position has never been doubtful since that year, and for a long time there has been no guide whose services have been more in request: he is usually engaged a year in advance.

[MELCHIOR ANDEREGG IN 1864.]

MELCHIOR ANDEREGG IN 1864.

It would be almost an easier task to say what he has not done than to catalogue his achievements. Invariable success attends his arms: he leads his followers to victory, but not to death. I believe that no accident has ever befallen travelers in his charge. Like his friend Almer, he can be called a _safe_ man. It is the highest praise that can be given to a first-rate guide.

Early in the afternoon we found ourselves in the little inn at La Grave, on the great Lautaret road, a rickety, tumble-down sort of place, with nothing stable about it, as Moore wittily remarked, except the smell.

Melchior had gone, and had left behind a note which said, "I think the pa.s.sage of the Breche _is_ possible, but that it will be very difficult."

His opinion coincided with ours, and we went to sleep, expecting to be afoot about eighteen or twenty hours on the morrow.

At 2.40 the next morning we left La Grave, in a few minutes crossed the Romanche, and at 4 A.M. got to the moraine of the eastern branch of the glacier that descends from the Breche.(17) The rocks by which we intended to ascend were placed between the two branches of this glacier, and still looked smooth and unbroken. But by five o'clock we were upon them. We had been deluded by them. No carpenter could have planned a more convenient staircase. They were not _moutonne:_ their smooth look from a distance was only owing to their singular firmness. In an hour we had risen above the most creva.s.sed portion of the glacier, and began to look for a way on to it. Just at the right place there was a patch of old snow at the side, and, instead of gaining the ice by desperate acrobatic feats, we pa.s.sed from the rocks on to it as easily as one walks across a gangway. At half-past six we were on the centre of the glacier, and the inhabitants of La Grave turned out en ma.s.se into the road and watched us with amazement as they witnessed the falsification of their confident predictions. Well might they stare, for our little caravan, looking to them like a train of flies on a wall, crept up and up, without hesitation and without a halt-lost to their sight one minute as it dived into a creva.s.se, then seen again clambering up the other side. The higher we rose the easier became the work, the angles lessened and our pace increased. The snow remained shadowed, and we walked as easily as on a high road; and when (at 7.45) the summit of the Breche was seen, we rushed at it as furiously as if it had been a breach in the wall of a fortress, carried the moat by a dash, with a push behind and a pull before, stormed the steep slope above, and at 8.50 stood in the little gap, 11,054 feet above the level of the sea. The Breche was won. Well might they stare-five hours and a quarter had sufficed for sixty-five hundred feet of ascent.(18) We screamed triumphantly as they turned in to breakfast.

[Map: Route from La Grave to La Berarde]

Our day's work was as good as over (for we knew from Messrs. Mathews and Bonney that there was no difficulty upon the other side), and we abandoned ourselves to ease and luxury; wondering alternately, as we gazed upon the Rateau and the ecrins, how the one mountain could possibly hold itself together, and whether the other would hold out against us. The former looked so rotten that it seemed as if a puff of wind or a clap of thunder might dash the whole fabric to pieces, while the latter a.s.serted itself the monarch of the group, and towered head and shoulders above all the rest of the peaks which form the great horseshoe of Dauphine. At length a cruel rush of cold air made us shiver, and shift our quarters to a little gra.s.sy plot three thousand feet below-an oasis in a desert-where we lay nearly four hours admiring the splendid wall which protects the summit of the Meije from a.s.sault upon this side.(19) Then we tramped down the Vallon des etancons, a howling wilderness, the abomination of desolation; dest.i.tute alike of animal or vegetable life; pathless, of course; suggestive of chaos, but of little else; covered almost throughout its entire length with debris, from the size of a walnut up to that of a house: in a word, it looked as if half a dozen moraines of first-rate dimensions had been carted and shot into it. Our tempers were soured by constant pitfalls: it was impossible to take the eyes from the feet, and if an unlucky individual so much as blew his nose without standing still to perform the operation, the result was either an instantaneous tumble or a barked shin or a half-twisted ankle. There was no end to it, and we became more savage at every step, unanimously agreeing that no power on earth would ever induce us to walk up or down this particular valley again. It was not just to the valley, which was enclosed by n.o.ble mountains-unknown, it is true, but worthy of a great reputation, and which, if placed in other districts, would be sought after and cited as types of daring form and graceful outline.

[THE VALLON DES eTANcONS (LOOKING TOWARD LA BeRARDE).]

THE VALLON DES eTANcONS (LOOKING TOWARD LA BeRARDE).

CHAPTER IX. THE ASCENT OF THE POINTE DES eCRINS.

Before five o'clock on the afternoon of June 23 we were trotting down the steep path that leads into La Berarde. We put up, of course, with the cha.s.seur-guide Rodier (who, as usual, was smooth and smiling), and after congratulations were over we returned to the exterior to watch for the arrival of one Alexander Pic, who had been sent overnight with our baggage via Freney and Venos. But when the night fell and no Pic appeared, we saw that our plans must be modified, for he was necessary to our very existence: he carried our food, our tobacco, our all. So, after some discussion, it was agreed that a portion of our programme should be abandoned, that the night of the 24th should be pa.s.sed at the head of the Glacier de la Bonne Pierre, and that on the 25th a push should be made for the summit of the ecrins. We then went to straw.

Our porter Pic strolled in next morning with his usual jaunty air, and we seized upon our tooth-brushes, but upon looking for the cigars we found starvation staring us in the face. "Hullo! Monsieur Pic, where are our cigars?" "Gentlemen," he began, "I am desolated!" and then, quite pat, he told a long rigmarole about a fit on the road, of brigands, thieves, of their ransacking the knapsacks when he was insensible, and of finding them gone when he revived. "Ah, Monsieur Pic! we see what it is-you have smoked them yourself!" "Gentlemen, I never smoke-_never!_" Whereupon we inquired secretly if he was known to smoke, and found that he was. However, he said that he had never spoken truer words, and perhaps he had not, for he is reported to be the greatest liar in Dauphine!

[CENTRAL DAUPHINe ALPS.]

CENTRAL DAUPHINe ALPS.

We were now able to start, and set out at 1.15 P M. to bivouac upon the Glacier de la Bonne Pierre, accompanied by Rodier, who staggered under a load of blankets. Many slopes had to be mounted, and many torrents to be crossed, all of which have been described by Mr. Tuckett. We, however, avoided the difficulties he experienced with the latter by crossing them high up, where they were subdivided. But when we got on to the moraine on the right bank of the glacier (or, properly speaking, on to one of the moraines, for there are several), mists descended, to our great hindrance, and it was 5.30 before we arrived on the spot at which it was intended to camp.

Each one selected his nook, and we then joined round a grand fire made by our men. Fortnum & Mason's portable soup was sliced up and brewed, and was excellent; but it should be said that before it _was_ excellent three times the quant.i.ty named in the directions had to be used. Art is required in drinking as in making this soup, and one point is this: always let your friends drink first; not only because it is more polite, but because the soup has a tendency to burn the mouth if taken too hot, and one drink of the bottom is worth two of the top, as all the goodness settles.

While engaged in these operations the mist that enveloped the glacier and surrounding peaks was becoming thinner: little bits of blue sky appeared here and there, until suddenly, when we were looking toward the head of the glacier, far, far above us, at an almost inconceivable height, in a tiny patch of blue, appeared a wonderful rocky pinnacle, bathed in the beams of the fast-sinking sun. We were so electrified by the glory of the sight that it was some seconds before we realized what we saw, and understood that that astounding point, removed apparently miles from the earth, was one of the highest summits of Les ecrins, and that we hoped, before another sun had set, to stand upon an even loftier pinnacle.

The mists rose and fell, presenting us with a series of dissolving views of ravishing grandeur, and finally died away, leaving the glacier and its mighty bounding precipices under an exquisite pale blue sky, free from a single speck of cloud.

The night pa.s.sed over without anything worth mention, but we had occasion to observe in the morning an instance of the curious evaporation that is frequently noticeable in the High Alps. On the previous night we had hung up on a k.n.o.b of rock our mackintosh bag containing five bottles of Rodier's bad wine. In the morning, although the stopper appeared to have been in all night, about four-fifths had evaporated. It was strange: my friends had not taken any, neither had I, and the guides each declared that they had not seen any one touch it. In fact, it was clear that there was no explanation of the phenomenon but in the dryness of the air.

Still, it is remarkable that the dryness of the air (or the evaporation of wine) is always greatest when a stranger is in one's party; the dryness caused by the presence of even a single Chamounix porter is sometimes so great that not four-fifths but the entire quant.i.ty disappears. For a time I found difficulty in combating this phenomenon, but at last discovered that if I used the wine-flask as a pillow during the night the evaporation was completely stopped.

At 4 A.M. we moved off across the glacier in single file toward the foot of a great gully which led from the upper slopes of the Glacier de la Bonne Pierre to the lowest point in the ridge that runs from the ecrins to the mountain called Roche Faurio-cheered by Rodier, who now returned with his wraps to La Berarde.

By five minutes to six we were at the top of the gully (a first-rate couloir about one thousand feet high), and within sight of our work.

Hard, thin and wedge-like as the ecrins had looked from afar, it had never looked so hard and so thin as it did when we emerged from the top of the couloir through the gap in the ridge: no tender shadows spoke of broad and rounded ridges, but sharp and shadowless its serrated edges stood out against the clear sky. It had been said that the route must be taken by one of the ridges of the final peak, but both were alike repellent, hacked and notched in numberless places. They reminded me of my failure on the Dent d'Herens in 1863, and of a place on a similar ridge from which advance or retreat was alike difficult. But, presuming one or other of these ridges or aretes to be practicable, there remained the task of getting to them, for completely round the base of the final peak swept an enormous bergschrund, almost separating it from the slopes which lay beneath. It was evident thus early that the ascent would not be accomplished without exertion, and that it would demand all our faculties and all our time. In more than one respect we were favored. The mists were gone, the day was bright and perfectly calm, there had been a long stretch of fine weather beforehand, and the snow was in excellent order; and, most important of all, the last new snow which had fallen on the final peak, unable to support itself, had broken away and rolled in a mighty avalanche over schrund, neve, seracs, over hills and valleys in the glacier (leveling one and filling the other), completely down to the col, where it lay in huge jammed ma.s.ses, powerless to harm us; and had made a broad track, almost a road, over which, for part of the way at least, we might advance with rapidity.

[Glacier de la Bonne Pierre]

We took in all this in a few minutes, and seeing there was no time to be lost, despatched a hasty meal, left knapsacks, provisions and all enc.u.mbrances by the col, started again at half-past six, and made direct for the left side of the schrund, for it was there alone that a pa.s.sage was practicable. We crossed it at 8.10. Our route can now be followed upon the annexed outline. The arrow marked D points out the direction Glacier de la Bonne Pierre. The ridge in front, that extends right across, is the ridge that is partially shown on the of the map at page 84, leading from Roche Faurio toward the W.N.W. We arrived upon the plateau of the Glacier de l'Encula, behind this ridge, from the direction of D, and then made a nearly straight track to the left hand of the bergschrund at A.

[Map: Route: Glacier de la Bonne Pierre]

Thus far there was no trouble, but the nature of the work changed immediately. If we regard the upper seven hundred feet alone of the final peak of the ecrins, it may be described as a three-sided pyramid. One face is toward the Glacier Noir, and forms one of the sheerest precipices in the Alps. Another is toward the Glacier du Vallon, and is less steep and less uniform in angle than the first. The third is toward the Glacier de l'Encula, and it was by this one we approached the summit.

Imagine a triangular plane seven hundred or eight hundred feet high, set at an angle exceeding 50; let it be smooth, gla.s.sy; let the uppermost edges be cut into spikes and teeth, and let them be bent, some one way, some another. Let the gla.s.sy face be covered with minute fragments of rock, scarcely attached, but varnished with ice: imagine this, and then you will have a very faint idea of the face of the ecrins on which we stood. It was not possible to avoid detaching stones, which, as they fell, caused words unmentionable to rise. The greatest friends would have reviled each other in such a situation. We gained the eastern arete, and endeavored for half an hour to work upward toward the summit, but it was useless (each yard of progress cost an incredible time); and having no desire to form the acquaintance of the Glacier Noir in a precipitate manner, we beat a retreat and returned to the schrund. We again held a council, and it was unanimously decided that we should be beaten if we could not cut along the upper edge of the schrund, and, when nearly beneath the summit, work up to it. So Croz took off his coat and went to work, on ice-not that black ice so often mentioned and so seldom seen, but on ice as hard as ice could be. Weary work for the guides. Croz cut for more than half an hour, and we did not seem to have advanced at all. Some one behind, seeing how great the labor was and how slow the progress, suggested that after all we might do better on the arete. Croz's blood was up, and, indignant at this slight on his powers, he ceased working, turned in his steps, and rushed toward me with a haste that made me shudder: "By all means let us go there!-the sooner the better." No slight was intended, and he resumed his work, after a time being relieved by Almer. Half-past ten came: an hour had pa.s.sed-they were still cutting. Dreary work for us, for there was no capering about to be done here; hand as well as foot holes were necessary; the fingers and toes got very cold; the ice, as it boomed in bounding down the bergschrund, was very suggestive; conversation was very restricted, separated as we were by our tether of twenty feet apiece. Another hour pa.s.sed. We were now almost immediately below the summit, and we stopped to look up.

We were nearly as far off it (vertically) as we had been more than three hours before. The day seemed going against us. The only rocks near at hand were scattered, no bigger than tea-cups, and most of these we found afterward, were glazed with ice. Time forbade cutting right up to the summit, even had it been possible, which it was not. We decided to go up to the ridge again by means of the rocks, but had we not had a certain confidence in each other, it unquestionably would not have been done; for this, it must be understood, was a situation where not only _might_ a slip have been fatal to every one, but it would have been so beyond doubt: nothing, moreover, was easier than to make one. It was a place where all had to work in unison, where there must be no slackening of the rope and no unnecessary tension. For another hour we were in this trying situation, and at 12.30 we gained the arete again, but at a much higher point (B), close to the summit. Our men were, I am afraid, wellnigh worn out: cutting up a couloir one thousand feet high was not the right sort of preparation for work of this kind. Be it so or not, we were all glad to rest for a short time, for we had not sat down a minute since leaving the col, six hours before. Almer, however, was restless, knowing that mid-day was past, and that much remained to be accomplished, and untied himself and commenced working toward the summit. Connecting the teeth of rock were beds of snow, and Almer, but a few feet from me, was crossing the top of one of these, when suddenly, without a moment's warning, it broke away under him and plunged down on to the glacier. As he staggered for a second, one foot in the act of stepping and the other on the falling ma.s.s, I thought him lost, but he happily fell on to the right side and stopped himself. Had he taken the step with his right instead of his left foot, he would, in all probability, have fallen several hundred feet without touching anything, and would not have been arrested before reaching the glacier, a vertical distance of at least three thousand feet.

Small, ridiculously small, as the distance was to the summit, we were occupied nearly another hour before it was gained. Almer was a few feet in front, and he, with characteristic modesty, hesitated to step on the highest point, and drew back to allow us to pa.s.s. A cry was raised for Croz, who had done the chief part of the work, but he declined the honor, and we marched on to the top simultaneously-that is to say, cl.u.s.tered round it, a yard or two below, for it was much too small to get upon.

[FRAGMENT FROM THE SUMMIT OF THE POINTE DES eCRINS.]

FRAGMENT FROM THE SUMMIT OF THE POINTE DES eCRINS.

According to my custom, I bagged a piece from off the highest rock (chlorite slate), and I found afterward that it had a striking similarity to the final peak of the ecrins. I have noticed the same thing on other occasions, and it is worthy of remark that not only do fragments of such rock as limestone often present the characteristic forms of the cliffs from which they have been broken, but that morsels of mica slate will represent, in a wonderful manner, the identical shape of the peaks of which they have formed part. Why should it not be so if the mountain's ma.s.s is more or less h.o.m.ogeneous? The same causes which produce the small forms fashion the large ones: the same influences are at work-the same frost and rain give shape to the ma.s.s as well as to its parts.

Did s.p.a.ce permit me, I could give but a sorry idea of the view, but it will be readily imagined that a panorama extending over as much ground as the whole of England is one worth taking some trouble to see, and one which is not often to be seen even in the Alps. No clouds obscured it, and a list of the summits that we saw would include nearly all the highest peaks of the chain. I saw the Pelvoux now-as I had seen the ecrins from it three years before-across the basin of the Glacier Noir. It is a splendid mountain, although in height it is equaled, if not surpa.s.sed, by its neighbor, the Alefroide.

We could stay on the summit but a short time, and at a quarter to two prepared for the descent. Now, as we looked down, and thought of what we had pa.s.sed over in coming up, we one and all hesitated about returning the same way. Moore said, No. Walker said the same, and I too-the guides were both of the same mind: this, be it remarked, although we had considered that there was no chance whatever of getting up any other way. But those "last rocks" were not to be forgotten. Had they but protruded to a moderate extent, or had they been merely glazed, we should doubtless still have tried; but they were not reasonable rocks-they would neither allow us to hold nor would do it themselves. So we turned to the western arete, trusting to luck that we should find a way down to the schrund, and some means of getting over it afterward. Our faces were a tolerable index to our thoughts, and apparently the thoughts of the party were not happy ones. Had any one then said to me, "You are a great fool for coming here,"

I should have answered with humility, "It is too true." And had my monitor gone on to say, "Swear you will never ascend another mountain if you get down safely," I am inclined to think I should have taken the oath. In fact, the game here was not worth the risk. The guides felt it as well as ourselves, and as Almer led off he remarked, with more piety than logic, "The good G.o.d has brought us up, and he will take us down in safety;"